


The Winvak Arrangement

by idreamtofreality



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, actually no haha i'm not sorry, car crashes, cw abuse, cw for sh, cw for sui attempt, happy ending I promise, hemiplegia, i'll update these as i go, language obviously, there are so many references i don't know when to stop, there's only a question mark on the chapters bc i dont know yet how im going to split this up, you will probably suffer and i'm sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-07-22 06:18:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 21
Words: 99,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7423375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idreamtofreality/pseuds/idreamtofreality
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Dean was a teenager, he fucked up. He got into a fight, got put into a hospital, and had to have John come pick him up. Then on the way home, a semi truck hit their car, killing John and paralyzing Dean. Since then, Dean's been pretty much dying--well, wanting to die, at least--in his shitty wheelchair, in his shitty apartment, in this shitty city he almost died in.</p><p>And then Sam drags him to student teacher conferences. And Dean meets Cas.</p><p>Cas is this weird substitute teacher who always, without fail, wears a suit, a backward tie, and a trench coat. He's got strange habits and mannerisms and a stranger family, but somehow he's the only one who can pull Dean out of the hole he's buried himself in.</p><p>He just hopes it isn't too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Before you all read this, I'm going to let you know now that I started writing this three years ago so even I don't get half of the references I make. This was in the height of my Supernatural obsession. Watch your step. 
> 
> Also be careful because this entire thing is rough. I'll specify tags per chapter. Let me know if anything else needs warnings.

Dean wasn’t afraid of much. When he was younger, he was afraid of his dad—of the alcohol that poisoned him, of what he would do to Sammy. He was afraid of anything happening to Sammy, even now. He was afraid of flying, and didn’t understand how in the fucking world a person would voluntarily get aboard those metal death traps. But he certainly wasn’t afraid of the dark. 

It was almost soothing—he couldn’t see anything around him, nothing there to remind him that he was a complete fuck-up, that he needed to get his life together. If the light was on, he could see the stupid picture frames on the dresser, the clothes scattering the floor that he had flung off of himself the night before, the unopened letters on the bedside table that he knew warned him about the electricity being turned off:  _ This is a notice. Four days left. _

He slammed his fist down onto his alarm clock, halting its hateful song, and pushed his legs down off the side of the bed. The light emitting from the numbers of the clock lit the room dimly, outlining the picture frames, the clothes, the letters, and he pushed back a groan. It was too fucking early to worry about any of that. He needed a bit of a wakeup before he started worrying about life again.

The wheelchair squeaked softly as he pulled it toward him, then again as he slowly settled himself in. He hadn’t really wanted it, but Sam had insisted, and who could resist those puppy eyes? That argument had lasted for days, Sam insisting that Dean was an idiot and of  _ course _ he needed a wheelchair, and Dean, telling his younger brother that he was probably going to die soon anyway, so he should have the right to lie in bed all day and get fat. It eventually ended with a threat to babysit Dean for the rest of his sorry life and a pair of really big, adorable, stupid fucking candy-apple green eyes. 

Having a chair on wheels was better than having a pimply seventeen-year-old constantly looking over his shoulder, Dean reasoned. It was definitely more expensive, though. (“Less expensive than a care home,” argued Sam, when Dean brought up that point. It was pretty much the turning point in their conversation.)

After pulling the green corners of his duvet straight, Dean wheeled himself out the door, grumbling at the shirts his wheels got caught on, then blinking hazily at the lights streaming in through the kitchen window. That wasn’t supposed to be open. It let the fucking dust in. And there certainly wasn’t supposed to be a teenager taking up the whole goddamn counter.

“Morning,” said Sam. He threw a banana at Dean, and it landed in his lap. Dean glared at him.

“What are you doing here?”

“Visiting. Am I not allowed to visit?”

After a few tries, Dean picked up the banana and threw it back at him. “Not if Azazel doesn’t know you’re here. And I’m not eating that fucking thing.”

Sam blinked at his brother. 

“ _ Fuck _ , Sam,” Dean groaned.

“I made breakfast,” he said helpfully. “Which, by the way, wasn’t easy. You seriously have absolutely nothing in your fridge.”

“Just because I don’t have rabbit food doesn’t mean I don’t have food.” Dean looked pointedly at the pan on the stove, which was emitting a satisfying sizzling sound. He hoped the burner was off.

“There were eggs and grape jelly,” said Sam. “There isn’t much else you can do with that.”

“I have bread. I could make a sandwich or something.”

“But you don’t have peanut butter. And I threw out your bread because it was getting green. Dean, why can’t you take care of yourself?”

Dean shrugged. “Thanks for the eggs. Now go home, Sammy.”

“Don’t call me that. And I’m not going, because I’m taking you to your very first therapy session.” He scraped half the eggs onto a chipped plate and placed it delicately in Dean’s lap before forcing a fork into his right hand. “Eat.”

Dean stared at the plate, then at his brother. “Excuse me?”

“Your therapy session? You’ve been avoiding them since the…” His voice trailed off, avoiding the words that, accompanied with smoke, seemed to be Dean’s trigger if they sounded even slightly capitalized. “Anyway. I know the doctor said that you needed to start going to them. I found you a place.” He lifted the pamphlet and waved it around for a bit before dropping it back onto the counter. Dean slid his eyes to it. It looked happy. Colorful. “There are really great reviews for it online. If you don’t like it, we can find another.”

“No.” Dean’s voice was soft. The fork he clutched clattered onto the plate below it, and his now empty hand curled into a fist, his nails biting into the skin of his palm. “I told you. Please don’t get me started on this again.” 

Sam pulled his giant frame onto the counter and dangled his legs, swinging them back and forth lazily. Dean wondered if he knew how much that aggravated him. “Your session is in an hour. And it isn’t one-on-one. And it’s for people disabled in accidents. So you won’t get any weird staring, and you won’t be in the center of attention for more than a few minutes, because nobody will push anybody.” He sounded like he was advertising something, rehearsing a well-prepared speech that could not possibly have a downside. But it did: Dean. He was so not going.

“I’m not going,” Dean said. “Nope. Not gonna happen.” In his clenched fist, his nails broke skin, but he ignored the pain. 

“You have an hour,” Sam said. “And I know for a fact that you only have a few clients to work with today, so taking away two hours is not going to make that much of a difference. You should probably shower and get dressed and all that.” He paused, then added, “Also, you should eat. When was the last time you ate, like, an actual meal?”

Dean looked down at his plate. The eggs looked a little rubbery and were swimming in something watery—dear God, did that kid put water in the eggs again?—but it was better than what Dean had had yesterday, which was nothing at all. Except for a cup of shit coffee about this time to wake him up.

Speaking of.

“Did you make any coffee?”

Sam brightened. “Yeah, I’ll pour you a cup.” A cup meaning this travel mug that wouldn’t open unless you pressed a button on the side, perfect for a spaz like Dean that constantly dropped whatever he was holding. “What do you want in it?” he asked, as if there was something to put in it.

“I want it black. Like my soul,” Dean told him, hissing the last part because he’s a cliché.

“You used to take it with cream,” Sam reminded him, then froze, as if he just realized what he referred to, as if he didn’t realize that what he just referred to was being spoken about quite freely just a few minutes earlier.

That would be BTA—before the accident. When Dean was a teenager like Sam, the thought made him a little angry, but he just forced a smile that felt plastic and said, “Yeah, those were the days. An inch of coffee and the rest was just cream and sugar. I was such a fucking wuss.”

His face visibly relaxed, which was good. Dean hated it when Sam was all worked up. Dean’s fist slowly relaxed, returning to its natural, comfortable position. “I used to ask you if you wanted some coffee with your cream. Remember that?”

“Dude, how could I forget?” Dean smiled at him again as he took the cup, pressed the button, and waterfalled some of the contents down his throat. He could feel Sam’s eyes on him, watching carefully, seeing if Dean would collapse and die on him at any moment.

Dean wondered briefly if collapsing in a wheelchair would look as dramatic and badass as people with fully functioning bodies.

“Ellen likes her coffee just like yours,” said Sam, a little tentatively, pulling Dean out of his thoughts. “I always made them exactly the same, and you both made the exact same sound when you took the first sip.” He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, letting loose a moan Dean never wanted to hear from him again.

Dean flicked an egg curdle at him. “Oh, shut up, you bitch. I have never made that disgusting sound in all of my life.” 

Sam’s head snapped back and he grinned. “Oh, really? I seem to remember hearing that sound come from your room several times when I was younger. You know, all those times you kicked me out.” He looked adorable, with his stupid long hair and ginormous eyes and crooked smile.

“Adorable?” Sam asked. He pulled a face, and Dean laughed. He hadn’t realized he had spoken out loud. “I’m not adorable,” he continued indignantly. “God, I’m seventeen! I am  _ not _ adorable.” 

“You’re my kid brother,” Dean chuckled. “You’ll always be adorable.” He gulped down some more coffee and set the mug down on the arm of his wheelchair, rocking it back and forth absently. It felt good to laugh again. He hadn’t done it in a while—his life was a constant cycle of coffee, internet, and sleep, and there was no room for laughter there.

“Hey,” said Sam quietly, “Want me to take those for you so you can get ready?”

Dean moaned at him.

“Hey. You’re doing this whether you like it or not. I just want you to go and see how it turns out, okay? You don’t have to say anything until you’re comfortable. Just try it. For me?” He widened his eyes and gave Dean the  _ look _ again.

“You’re a horrible human being, you bitch,” Dean told him. He smiled.

“Oh, I know.” Sam grabbed the plate and the coffee cup, then spun Dean’s chair around so it was facing the bathroom. “Off you go, jerk.”

“I need clothes, moron.”

“So get clothes. Your room is pretty much in the same direction.”

Dean threw him a glare as he wheeled away, and hoped Sam knew he was smiling when he turned back around.

 

Forty minutes later Dean was sitting in Sam’s stupid Chevy with his wheelchair folded him behind him. Sam helped him buckle up his seat belt, despite his grumblings of “God, Sam, I’m not a kid” and started the car, pulling out smoothly. Dean gripped the door.

“When did you learn to drive?”

“I got my license a few weeks ago,” said Sam. There was something calm about watching him change gears, Dean thought, but it was also vaguely terrifying. His nerd brother was growing up. How did this even happen? “I started driving when I was, I don’t know, fourteen? Fifteen?”

“You never told me,” Dean said.

“Yeah, well. You don’t really talk to me that often.” He shrugged nonchalantly, but Dean could see the pain behind it, the hurt. “There are only a few days when you’re like this. Willing to, I don’t know, socialize, I guess. Other days you’re just pushing everybody away. I never know what to expect, so sometimes I don’t say anything at all.” 

“I’m not bipolar or anything,” Dean said, “Believe it or not. One of the problems I don’t have.”

“That isn’t funny, Dean.”

“What isn’t?”

“Joking about your problems. It isn’t funny.”

“So what? I’m depressed. Suicidal. Have chronic anxiety. I’m a cripple. Might as well say them outright.” Dean’s tone was bitter, and he didn’t like complaining. So he changed the subject. “Who taught you?”

Sam shot him an irritated glance. “Taught me what?”

“How to drive. Who taught you?”

“Oh.” He shifted in his seat. “Azazel.”

Dean licked his lips and nodded a few times. Just because the guy was an ass to Dean didn’t mean he would be a jerk to Sam, too. “Is he.” He swallowed. “Is he good to you? He doesn’t hurt you?”

Sam looked at Dean strangely as they slowed to a stop in front of a crosswalk. “No. Why—” Then realization seemed to dawn on him. “Oh my god. Dean, did he  _ hit _ —”

“What’s this therapy thing about, anyway?” Dean interrupted. “Do I get to see the pamphlet or am I supposed to just sit over here with my only functioning thumb up my ass?”

Sam sighed and flicked the folded paper to his brother. “Take a look. We’re still about ten minutes away.”

Dean scanned the pamphlet. It was happy and cheerful, advertising a group called  _ Tired Tears _ , which was cheesy as fuck. Tired tears? It should’ve been ‘Crippled Losers’ or something. The group was supposed to be led by a lady whose picture was displayed on the first flap. She was plump and pleasant looking—if pleasant looked like your friendly murdering neighbor—with a thick pair of glasses and a wide smile on her face. She looked like the type who would speak to people like they were four years old. Dean dropped it onto the dashboard with a sigh.

“What?” Sam asked, “What is it?”

“Fuck this,” Dean whispered, “I don’t want to do this.”

“I know. Do you want me to stay through it?”

Dean started to laugh. Sam looked offended.

“Okay, fine. I guess not.”

“Not that I don’t like you or anything, but there is no way I’m going to let you sit in and listen to me talk about my feelings.”

“Really.” He raised a slow eyebrow, but didn’t move his head to look at his brother. Huh. Guess he was a safe driver. “You’re going to talk about your feelings. You. Talk about your feelings.  _ You _ .”

“Shut up. I was being hypothetical. You aren’t coming because you’re just going to shoot me stupid sympathetic glances the whole time.”

“I’m a supportive brother,” he protested.

“Oh, yeah. Super supportive.” Dean rolled his eyes at him and fiddled with the hem of his shirt. “Listen. Could you…wait outside? Just in case?” He was starting to sound like the kid brother, and he hated it. “If I wanted to leave.”

“You should try and stay through the whole thing.”

“I know. But just in case.”

Sam tapped his long fingers against the leather of the steering wheel. “Okay. I’ll park the car outside and hang out in the diner. If you feel like you absolutely need me, then I’ll come and get you.” 

Dean nodded. “Not that I need you or anything,” he added. Sam laughed softly.

“No, of course not. You don’t need anybody.”

“I don’t.”

“Here we are.” They pulled into the surprisingly long driveway of a small townhouse. “Don’t make any judgments. Just give it a try.” 

“Right. A try.” Dean pushed open the door and dropped his wheelchair onto the ground, pushing the seat down so it unfolded. “This is going to be fun. How long am I going to be here?”

“Two hours.”

“And how many people?”

Sam laughed. “Just get out of the car. Do you need help?”

“I know how to get in my wheelchair, bitch.” Dean slid his right leg out first and balanced on it before slowly easing himself down onto the seat. “See? I’m perfectly fine.” 

“Do you want me to walk inside?” 

“I can manage.”

Dean shouldn’t have said that, because he was panicking three feet before he reached the door. What was he going to say? Was he supposed to knock, or was he supposed to ring the doorbell? What did normal people do?

But as his hand reached to connect to wood, the door slid open, and the woman from the pamphlet stood in front of him. She beamed and stuck out one manicured hand. Dean shook it hesitantly.

“Hey there, sugar,” she said, her voice bright. “My name is Madge Carrigan. Are you here for support group?”

“Uh. Yeah.” Dean glanced uneasily back at the Chevy, where Sam was still sitting. “I guess so.”

“What’s your name, sweetheart?”

There’s that demeaning voice he was expecting. “Dean Winchester,” he said, returning her smile with a much dimmer, weaker one.

“Well, then, come on in, Mr. Dean Winchester. I think you’re the last one to arrive, so we’re just going to get started.” She led him through the foyer into the living room, where two guys and two girls sat in wheelchairs, and two other people that had missing arms. They were arranged into a half circle with a coffee table full of cookies and juice and paper cups sat in the middle of them. Madge directed Dean to position himself beside one of the wheelchair girls, a frail looking blonde, and sat herself in a wooden chair facing the others.

“Well, then,” she said cheerfully. That seemed to be her favorite phrase. “Why don’t we start introducing ourselves before we get anything else started? After all, what’s a support group if we don’t know what group is supporting us?” With this she let out a high pitched giggle that made Dean flinch. “Why don’t we start with you, Jake, and we’ll move in a counterclockwise direction. Go ahead, Jake.”

Jake was a younger guy with a missing leg. His head was smooth shaven, his jaw set. Other than the absence of his other limb, he looked pretty healthy. “My name’s Jake,” he said, speaking in a droning tone. “I was in a crash in Afghanistan that cost me my leg. Truck fell on me and my buddies, and I got out lucky. I’m twenty-four.”

“Alright, good,” said Madge, nodding. “Next?”

After Jake was a skinny guy named Garth who was missing his right arm (Which is A-Okay since I’m left-handed anyway,” he had told the group, smiling a bit), taken from him in a motorcycle accident after he went drunk driving. “Don’t drink and drive kids, especially when you’re like me,” he said, when he was done, and Madge gave him a nod of approval before they went to the next person, a brunette girl with a rickety wheelchair and a blanket covering her lap. Her name was Meg, and she was born with malfunctioning legs. Then there was Andrew, paralyzed from a fall while rock climbing, and Gary, whose left arm was eaten by cancer, and the girl next to Dean, whose name was Haley, who lost one leg to an infection. She looked like she was still sick.

“Now it’s your turn,” said Madge. By then she had consumed a whole dozen cookies and was working on a thirteenth, a juice cup in the hand that wasn’t shoving something into her mouth. BTA Dean would have been doing the same. He swallowed.

“Uh. Hi. I’m Dean. I, uh. I’m left-sided hemiplegic, got in a car crash when I was sixteen and got my head banged up pretty good. I’m twenty-one.”

“Well, then, since that’s all settled, let’s start talking,” said Madge. “Obviously you’re all here for a reason, right? You guys want to talk about something, share with people that would understand what you’re going through.”

“Hey,” said Jake, jerking a chin at Dean. “You. Dean. Can you walk?” 

Dean looked down at his lap. He didn’t want this, didn’t want the attention. “Not really,” Dean said, so quiet it was almost a murmur. “I can balance long enough to get in and out of the wheelchair, but that’s about it. My body gets too confused.”

He nodded, and Dean expected him to say more, but he didn’t. Instead, he just twisted his fingers in his lap.

“Let’s light some candles to set the mood,” said Madge, grinning at the group. “Excuse me for a moment.” They were all quiet as she stood up and sauntered to the kitchen. It wasn’t until she struck a match that Dean realized the problem with the situation.

“No, wait—”

But there it was. The smell of smoke, curling into Dean’s nostrils, worse as she came closer with the candle, her smile still happy and bright, oblivious to what she had done.

She had pulled Dean’s trigger. And he was off.

Images flashed before his eyes, sounds echoed in his ears. The smell of burning rubber, of smoke, of fire, and then there were the screams, the sirens. The concerned face of a firefighter peeking in through the scorched car door window. Sobbing, crying.

“Dean. Dean!” Somebody was shaking him. Dean forced his eyes open—everybody was still there, wearing vaguely concerned faces, but also ones of pity. Even the people worse off than Dean pitied him. Great.

The candles were gone, and so was the smell. Madge came rushing back into the room, looking terrified and apologetic at the same time. Garth was standing next to Dean, and he drew back his hand when Dean opened his eyes.

“What happened there, kiddo?” he asked. 

“I need to leave,” Dean mumbled. “Excuse me.” He grabbed his wheel and spun himself around, hastily moving toward the door. Garth pulled it open for him. 

“Take care of yourself,” he called as Dean shot out.


	2. Chapter 2

“You made it twenty minutes,” said Sam tiredly, turning on the car. “Dude. It’s two hours long. I thought you were going to last longer than that.”

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“What happened?”

“She lit a candle. Didn’t even ask about any triggers.” His sentences were short and choppy, his breathing coming in the same way.

“Hey. Settle down.” Sam patted Dean on his useless left leg. “How do you feel about going to conferences with me now? I sure as hell don’t want Azazel there. He’ll probably scare them off.”

“I don’t know how to deal with teachers,” Dean said tiredly. “High school wasn’t great for me.”

“That’s because you were getting bad grades. But I’ve got As. They’ll be singing my praises. It’ll be fine.”

“Right, okay.”

“You don’t have to. I mean, my grades don’t matter or anything.” He dropped his voice to a lower, whinier sound. He was guilt-tripping Dean. And it was working. Dean sighed.

“Fine. I’ll go.”

“Sweet. I don’t have very many classes.”

“You have eight. Just like everybody else in the fucking world.”

“Right. And that’s not that many.”

“Whatever.”

They pulled into the school parking lot and hopped out, and Sam waited for Dean to get situated before they headed to the front doors. “I swear to God,” Dean said, “If anybody stares at me, I swear to God.”

“Everybody stares at everybody. Just imagine they think you’re really attractive and young looking and they wonder why they’ve never seen you before.”

“I don’t need to imagine that. I am attractive and young looking,” Dean said, growling.

“Ooh, scary. Come on, my first class is this way.”

The conferences with the first five teachers was completely uneventful, full of ‘wow this kid is so great’ and blushful stares. By the sixth class, Dean was so done, but Sam insisted that if he had to see one teacher, it would have to be this one, because this one was the best. Dean checked his schedule on the paper, and it just said ‘History’ with Zachariah Milton.

“Wait, you’re a history geek, too?”

“Shut up.”

Mr. Zachariah Milton had a door that had a whole bunch of weird symbols on it. Dean squinted. “What is this crap?”

“That crap,” said Sam, twisting the doorknob, “Is Greek. He’s a Greek and Roman history teacher. Isn’t that cool?” He pushed it open and they walked in.

“Mr. Winchester,” said a calm voice. Dean twisted to look at the guy it came from. He was young, like almost Dean young, probably early twenties. His hair was a dark, messy halo around his head, a disarray that looked suspiciously like sex hair. His blue eyes—man, those things were intense—were framed by these huge black glasses. He dipped his head in the boys’ direction. “I was beginning to doubt if you would show up or not.” He stood from his seat and walked over to Dean and Sam, rather than wait for them to go to him. He wore a slightly disheveled suit under a long tan trench coat, and he looked more like a tax accountant than a history teacher. “You must be Dean,” he said, holding out a hand. Dean took it, eyeing him wearily, and the other man gave him a firm shake. He looked Dean directly in the eyes the whole time, his gaze never wandering to Dean’s limp hand or the wheelchair, and he didn’t kneel. He was honest. Dean liked that.

“That’s me,” Dean said. “You’re Milton? I gotta say, man, you don’t much look like a Zachariah.”

“My name is Castiel Novak. I am, for the time being, a substitute for Mr. Milton. Shall we venture to my desk? I’ve a few things to show you.”

“What, you aren’t going to sing his praises like everybody else?” The words sounded harsh coming out of Dean’s mouth, even though he didn’t mean for them to. He was supposed to be nice to Sam’s teachers. But Novak just smiled and shook his head.

“I’m new to all of this, but I know that when I was a student, I wanted my teachers to go into specifics.” His eyes rose to meet Dean’s, and one corner of his mouth lifted. “I wanted to know why they liked me so much, instead of just hearing about how much they liked me.”

“You were a teacher’s pet?” That didn’t exactly surprise Dean.

Novak chuckled. “Ha. No, not quite. But I was a—how do they phrase it these days?—a suck-up.” They reached his desk and Novak slapped a stack of papers in front of the brothers. “I may or may not be hoarding your little brother’s work,” he said.

“I’m not little,” Sam huffed.

“My apologies, Sam. Mr. Winchester, allow me to rephrase. I may or may not be hoarding your  _ younger _ brother’s work.”

Sam rolled his eyes at Dean, who smirked back at him.

“I find it to be,” continued Novak, “Quite intriguing. He brings something to the table that nobody else does. He doesn’t agree with everybody or look things up on the internet—I can tell his ideas are original because they’re nothing I’ve ever seen before. That,” he said, giving Sam a fond look, “That is why he has an A. That is why he is the only one with an A.”

Dean whistled. “Impressive, Sammy.”

“Don’t call me Sammy,” Sam mumbled.

“He isn’t afraid to argue, either.” Novak blinked his big eyes at Dean. He was a little unsettling, but Dean found he wasn’t too bothered by it. “His arguments  _ are _ quite impressive, as are the moments of time he chooses to argue. Your brother will disagree with somebody, then debate with them, simply because he feels like talking. I try and advise him to stop when the argument doesn’t have anything to do with what we’re talking about.”

“That doesn’t surprise me at all.” Dean gave Sam a look, but the younger boy was beaming. He really did like this teacher. Huh.

“I was about to go grab some food,” said Novak, leaning toward them, “From the teacher’s lounge. Apparently somebody barbequed. Would you two care to join me for lunch? I could grab a few extra plates for you, unless you already have plans.”

Barbeque? It sounded delicious, but not entirely pleasant. Sam must have noticed the discomfort in Dean’s face, but he said, “Sure, Mr. Novak.”

“Burgers for both of you? Corn on the cob, as well?”

Sam looked at Dean again, then back at his teacher. “Burgers and corn sounds great. But could you, uh, leave the bun off for my brother? And bring a fork and knife?”

“You don’t have to,” Dean grumbled, but Novak shook his head.

“It is perfectly fine, Mr. Winchester. I can handle it.” 

This was humiliating. Dean hated eating in front of people—he was always dropping his fork or crushing whatever was in his hand, getting it all over himself and the unfortunate person sitting across him, who, in this case, would be Sam’s favorite teacher. “I’m going to die in a hole,” Dean said.

“Relax. You handled talking to him for that long, didn’t you? And he isn’t going to examine you while you eat. It’ll be fine.”

Dean glared at him.

“You’ll be fine,” Sam repeated.

“Man, tell me we don’t have to go to the next ones.”

“The next one will be five minutes, tops,” he said, and laughed when Dean groaned.

Dean hated school. Those last two years were the worst of his life.

He hoped Sam wasn’t going to make this a habit.

“Your teacher, Sammy,” said Dean, giving his brother a sideways glance. “Is fucking creepy. What the actual fuck.”

Sam frowned at Dean. “Don’t swear, Dean. We’re in a high school.”

“Still.”

“How is he creepy?”

“He fucking stares, Sammy.”

“So? Mr. Novak’s cool.”

Dean rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair, the fingers of his functioning hand drumming against his leg. “And why does he look like a tax accountant?”

“What, the trench coat and suit?”

“Make that recovering-from-sex tax accountant. And I think his tie is backwards.”

Sam gave the older Winchester a look. “I don’t know why he always wears that—or why his tie is backwards—but that’s just what he wears. And he, like, never takes the trench coat off. Even if it’s super freaking hot.” He waited a beat before adding, “Recovering from sex?”

“Dude. The hair? The tie?” 

“What about his hair?”

By then Novak had returned and Dean smirked at Sam as the teacher set the paper plates down in front of them. “I saw some steak knives, so I thought you might like those,” he said, and settled into his cushioned chair. “I grabbed a few.”

“Thanks,” said Sam. He had that big stupid smile on his face again. He was fucking fangirling. Dean rolled his eyes again. Fucking nerd. “Dean? Do you want some help?”

Dean really did need the help. It was hard to cut anything if you didn’t have another hand holding the food down, but now that Sam called it help, Dean’s stubbornness took over and he shook his head, jaw set. Sam sighed. “Seriously, Sammy. I’ll figure it out.”

“Dean.” He seized his brother’s plate and cut the meat into pieces, then sawed the corn off the cob. “Look. Was that so hard?” 

“You don’t have to baby me,” Dean grumbled.

“Sorry about my brother,” said Sam to Novak, who was watching the interaction with undisguised interest. “He’s a grouch.”

Now Sam was apologizing for him. Great. Dean stabbed the hamburger angrily with his fork.

“No apology needed, Sam,” said Novak. He was staring at Dean rather intently. “Your brother is perfectly fine.” He narrowed his eyes for a fraction of a second before returning his gaze to his plate. “These make me very happy,” he said finally. Dean coughed.

“Right. You said you liked burgers. I remember that,” said Sam eagerly.

“Burgers are my favorite food.” Novak bit into one and made a soft moaning sound.

“So burgers to you is like pie to Dean,” Sam suggested. Novak looked up at this.

“Pie?”

Dean nodded. “Any kind. Heaven on Earth.” This earned him a small smile, and that made him happy, for some reason. “I will never get tired of pie.”

“He’ll even eat the crap you get at gas stations, in the plastic,” revealed Sam with a dramatic sigh. “He doesn’t even read the labels.”

“Sammy keeps trying to get me to eat his rabbit food,” Dean said, rather conspiratorially, to Novak. “He thinks he’ll break me.”

“It’s Sam,” Sam mumbled. “And it isn’t rabbit food.”

“Lettuce is so rabbit food.” 

Novak seemed to find the whole conversation amusing. He finished his burger, licking his long fingers with a satisfied smile, and picked up his corn. “Do you two spend much time together? Sam told me he doesn’t live with you.”

Dean shrugged. “Not that much time. I want to hang out with him more, but between my job and his going to school…”

“Also you’re a jerk a lot of the time. And he never stops by my house,” added Sam.

“Oh, right, Sam. I’ll just drive over.”

Sam looked over at Dean, who was tightening his jaw, then turned back to Novak. “We see each other a few times a week.”

“And Mr. Winchester? You live by yourself?”

“Yeah.”

“I keep trying to tell him Azazel would take him, but Dean won’t…” Sam let his voice trail off, suddenly remembering their conversation in the car. When he looked at Dean again, his eyes were full of pity, and Dean hated it. “What about you, Mr. Novak?”

Novak slid his eyes toward Sam. “I have an apartment for the time being.”

“Are you going to get a house?” 

“I don’t think so,” he said. He stared down at his half-eaten corn, then wiped his buttery fingers on a napkin. “I have an apartment because that’s where my job is. As soon as Mr. Milton comes back, I’m going to try to get a permanent job, and that probably won’t be here.”

“Why not?”

“There aren’t any jobs open, Sam. They don’t need another history teacher.”

Sam looked troubled. “So you’ll leave?”

“Most likely, yes, as soon as Mr. Milton returns.”

“But he’s a shitty teacher,” Sam blurted, then looked horrified. “Sorry.”

“It’s all right, Sam. I don’t mind.” He glanced toward Dean. “I have heard from other students—current and of previous years—that Mr. Milton’s teaching methods have some…problems.” Sam snorted. “Apparently, the only students who passed were the ones who had to read extra material and teach themselves. These students passed, but the ones who did not do this, and only used Mr. Milton’s teaching to guide them through finals, did not. Unfortunately the ratio of passing students to failing students was not enough to fire Mr. Milton, and he is continuing his teaching.”

“That’s fucked up,” said Dean, ignoring Sam’s immediate protest afterward. “Why doesn’t somebody say something and get this guy booted?” 

Novak shrugged. “He is…intimidating, I guess you could say.”

“He’s terrifying,” Sam muttered. He picked at the sesame seeds on his plate.

“Wow. If Sammy thinks he’s terrifying, then something must be up,” Dean mused.

“Dude, even you wouldn’t like him.”

“Not much scares me,” said Dean.

“No, but he would constantly piss you off.” Sam shot another apologetic glance at Novak, who offered a very slight smile.

“I told you, Sam. Profanity does not bother me.”

Dean raised an eyebrow at Novak.

“Dude. Have you even heard of contractions?”

“I have been told my manner of speech is…odd. I do use contractions, albeit not normally.”

Dean stared at him. “Listen. Um. I’ve gotta get home, Sammy. Novak, I’ll see you—”

“Castiel,” said Novak.

“Gesundheit,” said Dean.

“I mean to say that you need not call me Novak, or Mr. Novak, or anything like that. You may call me Castiel.” He slid his eyes toward Sam. “You may as well, Sam, if you like, as long as it is not while there are other students around.”

Sam beamed. “Thanks, Mr. Nov—thanks, Castiel.” 

Dean smirked. “Okay, Samantha. Let’s get a move on before your hair gets any longer.”

“Oh, come on, Dean!” He stood up and grabbed the handles of Dean’s wheelchair, ignoring the protests. “Thanks…Castiel.”

“Anytime, Sam.” Castiel nodded at Dean. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Winchester.”

“Dean. Call me Dean.” 


	3. Chapter 3

“Dean. Hello. Muffin top.” Something poked into Dean’s side.

“Muffin top? Really?” He swatted at Sam. “I do  _ not _ have a fucking muffin top.”

“At the rate you’re going, you will.” He switched on the side lamp and wrinkled a nose at Dean’s room before settling into Dean’s chair by the bed. “Dude, you need to pick up. And vacuum. It stinks like hell in here.”

“Oh, right, Sam. Let me just do some waltzing first, huh?”

“Dean.”

“Sam.”

Sam gave him a bitch face.

“Oh, shut up. Does Azazel know you’re here?”

“He knows I’m out.”

“But not here? Sam, you know he doesn’t like me.”

“Which is exactly why I’m not telling him anything.”

Dean pushed himself up and shoved his legs off the side of the bed. “If you get in trouble, this is all on you.” He glared. “Get out of my wheelchair.”

Sam leapt up and pushed it closer. “You want to hang out again today? Like, maybe for a few hours?”

“I have work to do.”

“Like how  _ much _ work, though? Because I know you had jobs yesterday, and you still had time to do that, even after we spent time at the group therapy thing and the conferences. So maybe we could do something fun today? Like go to lunch? There’s a diner that opened down the street and I hear they have really great pie—”

“No.”

“Awesome! I’ll get the—”

“I said no, Sam.” Dean moved himself onto his wheelchair and rubbed his face. “I’m not going anywhere today.”

“Yesterday you did fine—”

“And today I want a break,” Dean snapped. He seized the flask by the nightstand and unscrewed the top, pouring the contents down his throat. It burned a fiery trail on the way down, and he embraced the pain. “Just go do whatever teenagers do and leave me alone.” Sam plopped down onto the bed and Dean tugged at the corners of the duvet irritably. “Trying to make the bed, here, Sam.”

“Teenagers,” said Sam, “Hang out with their friends or spend all day on the internet.”

“So? You spend all day on the internet.”

“If I do, it’s for  _ research _ , Dean.”

“And you have friends, don’t you?”

“I see them every day at school.” 

“Brady and Jess and them, right?” 

“I see them every day, Dean. I want to just spend some time with you.”

Dean took another swig of whiskey. “You spent time with me yesterday, Sam.” He sounded tired even to himself.

“You’re destroying yourself, Dean. Just talk to me.”

“Fuck off.”

“Dean.” Sam was looking at him earnestly. It made Dean want to throw something.

“Get out of my apartment, Sam. Just leave me alone for once, okay? Go have your apple pie life.”

Sam had started toward the door, but he stopped, and Dean groaned. “Is that what you want? For me to have the perfect life?”

“Get out.”

“I don’t want a perfect life, Dean. I want a brother.”

“Get out or I’m calling Azazel.”

Sam took a deep breath, as if he were calming himself. “I don’t know why you have to be like this, Dean.”

The older Winchester turned around and started straightening out the bed.

“I made you breakfast,” Sam told him. “I bought some groceries.”

“I’ll pay you back,” Dean said shortly. He waited until Sam left to throw the flask across the room and fling his blanket at the door.

 

The phone was ringing. Why the fuck was the phone ringing? Nobody called Dean. Nobody except Sam, and it was in the middle of a school day.

Fuck. He was probably in trouble. Dean fumbled with the lamp on his nightstand, and when it finally turned on, he found his phone on the floor. Sure, by the time he answered it he was hanging off the bed, but those are just small details. Pressing the phone to his shoulder with his ear, Dean used his good hand to push himself back onto the mattress.

“Hello? Sammy?” 

The voice that came from the receiver was definitely not Sam. It was gravelly and deep and way past puberty.

“Hello, Dean.” 

“Cas?”

There was a short pause. “It is I.”

Dean pressed two fingers to his temple, still holding the phone. “What’s up? Wait. Aren’t you supposed to be teaching?”

“There is a lunch break.”

“How’d you get my number?”

“Sam gave it to me. I assumed it to be acceptable, else I would not have phoned.”

“What do you need?”

“My, ah, car is in need of fixing, and I am not entirely sure if I can get it to work again.”

“Hey, if all else fails, Sam can give you a ride. Normally it’s the teacher giving the student a ride, but hey, times change, right?” 

“I suppose the times do change.”

“So what’s wrong with your car?” Dean swept his hand across the nightstand and cursed when he remembered that he had thrown his drink across the room two days prior during his…overgrown temper tantrum.

“Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing. Just…I misplaced my…uh. So what’s wrong with your car?”

There was another pause, as if Castiel was still trying to figure out what was going on. “It won’t turn on.”

“You gotta be a little more specific than that, Cas.”

“My apologies. I do not know much about cars and I do not exactly pay attention to the normal functions. I am not able to tell you what is different.”

“Try to turn it on and let me listen.” Dean turned his volume up and put his phone on speaker, then dropped it in his lap so he could use his hand to wheel himself to his computer. There was a faint rumbling sound and Dean, glanced down. A few seconds passed before Castiel’s tentative voice came back.

“Does that help?”

“Yeah, thanks. I’m emailing you some possible solutions. If none of these work, you can take it down to Bobby Fisher’s downtown. He’s a great guy. He won’t rip you off.”

“This Bobby Fisher. Is he a family friend of yours?” 

Dean spotted his flask on the ground and picked it up, grinning when he heard the liquid slosh inside. “You could say that. He and my dad worked together for a while. Hey, man, what’s your email?”

“Can you…can you just email it to my school email?”

“No, man. That’s weird. Besides, I’ve gotta hound you with spam after this, and the schools’ll whoop my ass if they see I’m screwing with the system.”

“Spam?” Castiel sounded slightly afraid.

“Not, like,  _ spam _ . Y’know, gifs and shit.”

“I am not entirely sure I know what that means.” 

“Just gimme your email, Cas.”

There was a long silence.

“Oh, come on. It can’t be that bad, can it?”

“It can be. My cousin made it for me.”

“Oh, man, big mistake. You don’t let relatives make the emails. Or maybe you could make a new one? That’s always a possibility.”

“You can do that?”

“Of course you can do that, you nerd. Come on. Email.”

“It’s…castiel…is an angel? At gmail?” 

Dean spit out his whiskey. “Are you fucking me right now?”

“I told you it was bad.”

“Dude, who the fuck are you related to?”

“No spaces,” said Castiel miserably.

Dean chuckled as he typed the address in. “Man, I have got to tell Sammy this. He’ll freak.”

“You should talk to him.”

He clicked send. “What do you mean?” 

“You should talk to him. Sam. He looks awful, even in my class.”

“Dim the ego, there, bud.”

“This isn’t funny, Dean. He missed an assignment yesterday, which he has never done before.”

“Wow. This conversation is getting way too serious.” Dean exited the browser and started toward the kitchen. “I’m checking out. See you around, Cas.”

“Dean—”

Dean hung up and took another pull of whiskey.

  
  


Castiel rolled over and stared at his alarm clock. It was five in the morning, and he still hadn’t been able to get to sleep. It was the same as every night. He fell asleep for an hour, and then the rest was occupied with just staring at the ceiling.

He looked at the clock again. Five minutes had passed. He had already gotten his hour of sleep, and clearly nothing else was going to happen, so he pushed himself off the bed and padded to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. He didn’t really like the stuff, but it was hot and it kept Castiel awake through the day.

He leaned on the counter as he waited for the coffee machine, and when it was done, he poured some into a cup and retrieved a salad from the fridge for an early breakfast. Immediately Dean’s voice popped into his head:  _ Sammy keeps trying to get me to eat his rabbit food. He thinks he’ll break me _ .

“Rabbit food,” Castiel mumbled into his coffee. He rubbed his eyes with his knuckles and dropped into a seat.

The phone rang. Castiel looked at it, waited for it to ring a few times, before picking it up and holding it to his ear. “Hello?”

“Cassie!”

Castiel groaned. “Gabriel.”

“Don’t sound so put out. You love me. How about a visit from your favorite cousin, huh?”

“I have work, Gabriel.”

“So call it off! You’ll be fine.”

“I’m a substitute teacher. They’ll have to find a substitute for a substitute. I’m not making them do that.”

Gabriel quieted. “Oh. You think they’re going to find a replacement if you’re gone.”

“I can’t lose this job right now.”

“So afterwards, then? I’m in town and I am so not missing you or your baking.”

Castiel sighed. “I feel like you’re using me.”

“What? That’s ridiculous. I’ll pick you up at the school.”

“No, I have a car. Wait an hour after school is out and come over. I’ll probably have a cake ready by then.” 

“Oh, Cassie. You magician, you.” 

“I’m hanging up now.”

“Hold on a second. How’s that student of yours? The genius?”

“Still a genius.”

“Awesome. I love that kid. Cracks me up every time. Are you sure I can’t pick you up at the school?”

Castiel pushed a forkful of lettuce into his mouth. “We can meet for lunch. After school, you need to still come an hour late. I have cleaning to do and a cake to bake.”

“Where do you want to meet for lunch? What are the good places in town?” 

“There’s a diner a few blocks down from the school. Pick some burgers and milkshakes up from there. Three of each, so Sam can eat with us, if he wants to.”

Gabriel made a pleased sound. “Milkshakes. God, you’re the greatest.”

“So I’ve been told. I’ll see you at eleven-thirty.” Castiel put the phone back on the receiver and went to go take a shower.

 

The first two periods were dull, as always, filled with students that would much rather be somewhere else, absent a few that decided they would be that someplace else. When lunch came around, Castiel texted Sam.

Cas:  _ My brother is bringing lunch. Would you like to join us? _

Sam:  _ Sure I’ll be there in five. _

“On the way there,” said Gabriel as soon as Castiel answered his ringing phone.

“I’m sure you are,” Castiel answered. “I texted Sam, and he’s able to come.”

“Speaking of our little Sammy.”

“He isn’t our anything.”

“What’s his last name?”

“Winchester.”

“He wouldn’t happen to be related to a Dean Winchester, by chance, would he?”

Castiel paused and glanced toward the door. Sam still hadn’t arrived. “His brother, actually.”

“Have you met the guy?”

“I have, about four days ago.” And then he had phoned him the day before for help on his car. Whatever Dean had told him had worked, and Castiel had found himself a little disappointed that he didn’t have an excuse to meet a friend of the Winchesters, a man that Dean trusted. He didn’t seem the trusting type, and he had to have known the man for a while to recommend him to Castiel.

“And?”

“And what?”

“Dude. I hear he’s hot. Minus the whole paralyzed thing. But still. Even if he goes in public now people still talk about him.”

Castiel stilled. “You saw him?” 

“No, did you hear me? I said I  _ hear _ he’s hot. If I actually saw him, I would probably be a puddle right now. I’m getting a secondhand crush from hearing other people talk about him. Also, I may or may not have seen his junior picture when I was talking to the waitress.”

“Do you mean flirting?”

“You should have seen it, Cassie. No human being should be that attractive in their school picture. It’s a sin. It should be a crime. He’s a minor in the picture, for god’s sake. How old is he now?”

“Twenty-one, I believe. He’s four years older than Sam.”

“So if I marry the guy, then I get Sam and I get his hot older brother. This is a win-win situation, Cassie.”

A sigh escaped Castiel’s lips again. “I’m not entirely sure if he swings that way, Gabriel. Sam’s here,” he added, when the teenager appeared in the doorway. “Are you almost—”

“Right here,” said Gabriel, appearing behind Sam with a paper bag in one hand, a tray of milkshakes in the other, his phone cradled against his shoulder. “How ya been, Sam?”

Sam smiled at Gabriel. “I’m doing okay, Gabe.” 

“You like chocolate milkshakes?”

“Who doesn’t?”

“Come sit,” Castiel called. “I hope you don’t mind. I have some grading to do.”

Sam and Gabriel pulled the closest desks toward Castiel and slid into them. Sam dropped his backpack, Gabriel the food.

“I got everybody the same thing,” Gabriel said, “So no complaining, yeah?”

“If it’s from the Roadhouse, then I don’t think I could complain,” said Sam. He looked toward Castiel. “Oh, right. I was going to turn in that paper.”

“You won’t get full credit,” Castiel warned.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry.”

“Is everything okay?” Gabriel looked between the two.

“No big problem. Sam just didn’t turn in something on time.”

“Blasphemy,” Gabriel gasped. “The genius is going to be point one percent down!”

“He will still be above a hundred, what with all the extra credit that he gets.” 

Sam ducked his head and accepted the burger Gabriel pushed toward him.

“Is everything with you and Dean alright?”

Sam shrugged. “I don’t know. He’s always so angry at everybody.”

Gabriel shivered. “Ooh, I like that in a man.” Sam stared at him. “What? I do.”

“Please don’t crush on my brother. He’ll just shove it back in your face. It’s what he does to everybody.” Sam looked back at Castiel. “He just keeps pushing everybody away, even me. It hurts. We used to be really close.”

“You said that he doesn’t like your guardian?”

“Yeah, Azazel.”

Gabriel whistled. “Nasty guy.”

“He’s not too bad. But I think—” Sam stopped. “I shouldn’t be saying all of this. But I think that Azazel used to hit Dean, and that’s why he doesn’t want to live with us. That and the whole I-can-take-care-of-myself shit that he insists on.”

“What makes you think Azazel hit Dean?” This time Gabriel’s input was slightly useful.

“Just…the other day. Before we came to conferences. He asked me if Azazel had ever hurt me. He doesn’t, but who asks questions like that if they hadn’t been hurt themselves?”

“I see your point.” Gabriel leaned toward Castiel. “He’s damaged,” he whispered.

“I apologize for my cousin,” said Castiel to Sam, who shrugged.

“It doesn’t really bother me anymore. It’s just the way he is.” Sam sipped his milkshake. “He speaks his mind. I’m okay with that.”

“Phew,” said Gabriel. “I don’t have to worry about that anymore. So tell me, Sam. How hot is your brother?”

“I may be okay with your personality, but I am so not letting you date my brother.”

“No, but. On a scale of one to ten. One being Cassie, ten being me, how hot is he?”

“Who are we implying is ugly here?”

“Have you seen us? Cassie, obviously.” 

Sam shook his head, smiling. “I am not rating the attractiveness of my brother. How about I show you a picture and you can decide for yourself?”

Gabriel narrowed his eyes. “Is it a current picture?”

“It was taken, like, a week ago. It’s current enough.” Sam found the picture on his phone and handed it over to Gabriel, who looked at it for thirty seconds, mouthing ‘ten’ and nodding, before passing it on to Castiel.

The picture was taken without Dean’s knowing, but it was taken at a moment when he was happy. He was sitting at a table, a phone held to his ear, his head thrown back in a laugh. Castiel wondered briefly who he was talking to, who made him so happy. Of course, as soon as Castiel passed the phone back to Sam, Gabriel voiced Castiel’s thoughts.

“Who’s he talking to?” 

Sam frowned at the picture, thinking. “I think maybe Ellen?”

“Is Ellen your guys’ mom?” Gabriel sounded hopeful. Castiel sighed.

“Gabriel—”

“My mom’s dead,” Sam said. He tucked his phone back into his pocket and finished off his burger. “Ellen is like a mom to us, though, like Bobby is like a dad. I thought one of them would take custody of us when my dad died, but apparently we were left to Azazel.”

“Is Azazel another family friend?”

“I hadn’t even heard of him until we were told that we were left to him. So I don’t think so.”

There was a moment of silence before Gabriel spoke again. “Ellen. Ellen who?”

“Ellen Harvelle.”

“Hey. Isn’t she the owner of the Roadhouse? I thought I saw somebody with that name.”

“She owns it with her daughter, Jo, and her adopted son, Ash.”

“Ash and Jo. They aren’t particularly attractive, are they?” 

Sam gave him another picture, and Gabriel cursed.

“Dammit. I don’t have a chance if Dean Winchester is straight. Look at her.”

“Jo is still in high school,” said Sam.

“Is your brother straight?” Gabriel narrowed his eyes in suspicion. Sam laughed at him.

“I’ve got to get to my locker and give my friends some things. See you later, Castiel. Bye, Gabriel.” 

When he was gone, Gabriel turned to Castiel. “He didn’t answer my question. I need to know more about Dean Winchester.”

“Of course you do.” 


	4. Chapter 4

“I have valuable information.”

Gabriel had arrived twenty minutes early and was watching in fascination as Cas frosted the cake. He leaned over the counter and grabbed the whisk. “Very valuable. Are you ready for all of this?”

Castiel swatted at Gabriel’s hand, which was trying to get some more frosting. “How accurate is all of this, Gabriel? Is it gossip?”

“Not at all. I did some research. And conducted a few interviews. It’s fine.” Gabriel licked some chocolate off his hand, smacked his lips, and pulled out a small black notebook. “Look. I took notes. So listen up. Dean Winchester, born January twenty-fourth, twenty-one years ago, to a Mr. John Winchester and a Mrs. Mary Winchester. Apparently the loves of their lives, happily married, spoiled Dean rotten. He qualified as a child model at one point, but they wanted him to concentrate on school, so that never became a thing. Four years after Dean’s birth came sweet little Sammy. Dean never once felt left out. He was a happy kid, and took care of Sam like he was paid for it. November second, there’s a fire in Sam’s nursery. Mary gets killed while trying to pull Sammy out. John was able to save his kids, but not his wife.” Gabriel pushed an article about the fire at Castiel.

“Oh god,” he said, surveying the picture of the damage on the house. “What the hell caused that?”

“They say electrical shortage, but they still haven’t figured it out. Anyway. After the tragic death of Mrs. John Winchester, the Mister went crazy. Not crazy, per se, but, you know, crazy. He drank a lot. People say he hit his kids. Dean showed up at school all the time with bruises, but he never said anything, and he always told people that he had the best dad in the whole world because he’s a loyal bastard. I asked Jo”—Gabriel flipped a few pages and stabbed a finger down toward the page—“And she said that Dean and John didn’t get into very many fights. It was mostly John and Sam, and Dean always stepped in to protect the kid.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“I know. Jo, apparently, used to go to the house all the time so she was there when a lot of the outbursts happened. One time John threw a bottle of whiskey at Dean’s head. He was unconscious for hours.”

Castiel repeated his before said phrase.

“Right. So this was all normal and everything. Then, early in Dean’s junior year—is the cake done?—there was a car crash.”

“Give it five minutes. What happened?”

“John went to pick Dean up from the hospital. Apparently he had gotten into a fight and he got banged up pretty good. He was drunk during the fight, too. I guess the trait gets passed on.”

“That’s not funny.”

“I know it isn’t. It’s sad, is what it is. But John went to go pick Dean up. By then Dean was all sobered up, but John wasn’t, and it was John who was driving.” Gabriel dropped another article onto the counter. “They got hit by a truck head on. John was killed instantly. Dean hit his head. After a few days in the hospital, they realized they couldn’t fix anything, and diagnosed him as hemiplegic. Left-sided hemiplegic. The whole left side of his body is paralyzed.”

Castiel put the frosting knife down so he could look at the picture. The car was in a twisted mess. It looked like what people who knew about cars would call a ‘classic’ but it was in complete ruin. Behind the knot of metal, there were emergency vehicles. Paramedics were caught mid-rush as they wheeled an unconscious Dean toward the ambulance. Dean’s face was dark with blood. Castiel forced himself to look away. He didn’t want to relive his nightmares. 

“Pretty nasty stuff,” said Gabriel seriously. “As soon as John was pronounced dead, people started looking for a place for Sam to stay. John had never written anybody down for them to go to, so everybody went to Mary’s will. They were supposed to stay with a guy named Azazel, who nobody had heard about before. Sam went straight there. A few months later, when Dean got out of the hospital, he went there too. The school year was over halfway done, so he just signed up for online school and finished everything that summer, got his GED and graduated.”

“That summer?”

“According to Ellen, Dean is a genius, too. Like, smarter than even Sam. His IQ is ten points higher than Sam, which is crazy ridiculous. He took his when he was a sophomore and Sam just took his a few months ago, so let’s just say I have a massive crush on a genius. If you ask him, though, he’ll just tell you that he dropped out of school after the accident and got his GED, and if you ask him what his IQ is, he’ll lie. Apparently he doesn’t like the attention. A humble man after my own heart.”

“You aren’t humble. And I don’t think Dean is, either. I think he just doesn’t want attention.”

“Whatever you say, Captain Side-eyes. Cake?”

Castiel served him a piece.

  
  


Smoke curled into Dean’s nose. He coughed. “Dad?” There wasn’t an answer. Dean reached out with his left hand and pawed at his father’s shoulder. “Dad, come on. We need to get out of here.” He coughed again and unbuckled his seatbelt, dropping onto the ceiling of the car. Was the car really upside-down? Dean couldn’t really tell. His head hurt, and there was something wet on his face.

Dean crawled toward his father and grabbed his arm. “Dad, come on. We need to get out of here,” he said again. His father didn’t move. Blood dripped from John’s hairline and onto Dean’s hand. Dean choked down a sob. His left hand was numb. Everything hurt. “Help,” he tried saying, but nothing would come out anymore. He coughed violently, trying to get the smoke out, the sting of fire. Dimly, he heard a car squeal to a stop and somebody’s footsteps running toward them.

A voice said, “Help. I need help. A car crashed.”

Dean’s consciousness faded. 

 

Dean jerked awake. He was drenched in sweat, and his heart was pounding. He rolled onto his side and coughed into his pillow, unable to catch his breath. The lamp next to his bed was knocked over by his elbow and fell to the floor with a crash.

_ Smoke. Fire. Sirens _ .

Dean gasped for air. He clawed at his throat and curled into a tight ball, screaming silently.

“Dean!” Somebody shoved him to a sitting position and pushed something small, red, and plastic into his mouth. Something was sprayed. “Deep breaths, Dean,” they said, patting his back. “Take deep breaths. There you go.”

“Sammy,” Dean gasped.

“I’m here, Dean. Take another puff.”

Dean squeezed the top of his inhaler and another spray was shot to the back of his throat. “What are you doing here? I thought you had bailed.”

“I wouldn’t bail, Dean. I’ve been here every morning. Who do you think keeps refilling the fridge?”

Dean dropped the inhaler back onto the covers and closed his eyes. “I’m sorry, Sammy. I’ve been a dick.”

“You’re fine. Just breathe like a normal human being, yeah?” Sam gave a shaky laugh and sat down in Dean’s wheelchair. “I always get worried about you.”

“You don’t need to worry about me, Sam.” 

“Dean, don’t say that. Of course I need to worry about you. You’re my brother and you’re hurting.”

“I’m not hurting, Sammy. I’m fine. Thank you for the food. I’ll pay you back.”

“You’ll pay me back?” Sam hit the nightstand angrily. “Really? I don’t want your money, Dean. I just want to take care of you, okay? I just want to take care of you for once. You’ve been taking care of me your whole life, so it’s my turn, now.”

“I don’t need to be taken care of, Sam.”

“Oh, really? You don’t need to be taken care of? Ten minutes ago you could have suffocated, and if I hadn’t been here, you would have.” He picked up the inhaler and gripped it tight in his hand. “What happened, Dean? Are you having nightmares again?”

“I don’t have nightmares,” Dean said.

“Dean—”

“I have dreams,” he said, raising his voice a little. “And they just so happen to be memories.”

Sam was watching him thoughtfully. “Bad memories.”

“No, of my prom date. Of  _ course _ they’re bad memories.”

“Of. Of the crash.”

Dean contemplated throwing himself out the window.

“You’ve got to try something, Dean. Talking to somebody, maybe? Try that group thing again with Madge?”

“Shock therapy, maybe?” Dean muttered under his breath. “Maybe I could take up knot tying?”

“You’re hilarious.”

“I try.”

“Could you try something, please?”

“I tried your therapy thing. Isn’t that enough?”

“You walked out after twenty minutes.”

“I was  _ triggered _ .” 

“There was no way she could have known your trigger, Dean. It isn’t her fault and you know it. It was just a fucking candle, for God’s sake.”

“Did I just hear you say ‘fuck’?” 

“Dean. Just one more time. We could go to lunch afterwards. Maybe to the Roadhouse? We can meet Bobby there.”

“I don’t want to see Bobby.”

“Of course you do.”

“I don’t, Sam.”

“Fine. Then I’ll invite Castiel and Gabriel.”

“Who-a-what-a? Cas and who?”

“Cas? You already have a nickname for him?”

“I have a nickname for everybody, Samantha.” Dean smiled and shoved his brother’s shoulder. “Get your ass out of my chair so I can go get breakfast.”

“How does breakfast in bed sound?” Sam flipped on the light. “I can bring you breakfast. How’s orange juice, toast, scrambled eggs, and bacon sound to you?”

“Sounds like heaven.”

“Great. I’ll make breakfast, and then we can go to the therapy session, and then we can meet Castiel and Gabe at the Roadhouse?”

“Who’s Gabe?”

“Castiel’s cousin. He’s visited a few times. I met him when I went into Castiel’s room to turn some extra credit in. He’s really…cool.”

“Why was there an ellipses there?” 

“I don’t know. He just speaks his mind.”

“So does Cas.”

“No, Cas is just honest. Gabe will just say anything that’s on his mind.” Sam nodded once. “Let me make you breakfast. I’ll be back in a sec.”

It took longer than a second for Sam to return with two plates, and it took longer than an hour to finish the food on those two plates. They were talking too much and Dean was laughing too hard at Sam’s anecdotes. 

 

“Glad to see you’re back, Dean,” said Madge. She beamed at him and opened the door wider so he could wheel himself in. “I didn’t think you would return. I am so dreadfully sorry about what happened.”

“Not your fault,” Dean said. “I was just triggered. I should have told you.”

“I thought I had already gotten a list of triggers. My apologies. Would you like some snacks? Garth’s baking.”

“Wouldn’t that be difficult?” Dean peeked into the kitchen and nodded at the skinny guy, who was holding a spoon in his mouth and balancing a tray of unbaked cookies in his hand.

“Hey, bud,” Garth said. “Are you all better now?”

“Seems that way.” Dean looked around, and saw only a few people. “Whoa. Where is everybody?”

“Jake, Haley, Gary, and Andrew are all on a trip,” Garth informed him, raising his eyebrows just the tiniest bit. “They got signed permission slips and everything.”

“A trip? Where’d they go?”

“The Grand Canyon. Perks of being a cripple, right?”

“I guess so.” Dean wheeled himself into the kitchen and inhaled deeply. “Man, what kind of cookies are those?”

“Cookies?” Meg rolled into the room and greeted Dean with a nod. “That isn’t a cookie in there, Dean. That’s pie.”

Dean froze. He looked at Madge, then at Garth. “Pie?” he asked tentatively. He licked his lips. Garth grinned and nodded. “What kind of pie?” 

“Apple, cherry, and then there’s a lemon meringue in the fridge that’s cooling.” He winked. “You can have as many pieces as you like. There are only four of us, and there’re three pies.”

“Fantastic.” Dean sniffed the air again. “What, no group session today?”

“We’re going to talk like normal human beings today,” said Meg, “Believe it or not. We’re just going to talk and eat some pie.”

“Can you make me a list of your triggers, sweetheart?” Madge put a hand on Dean’s shoulder and leaned down so she was eye-level with him. 

“Uh,” said Dean, “It’s kind of hard to explain. Smoke is one of them. Food smoke doesn’t bother me. But, like fires and shit? I’m fucked. And then. Well, they’re words? And you have to make them sound capitalized for me to be triggered.”

“What words?”

Dean gave her a pointed look.

“Oh. Do you want to write them down?”

“Sure. That’d be great.”

Madge handed over a sticky note and Dean scribbled ‘the accident’ down in capital letters. Madge retrieved it and nodded. “You have beautiful handwriting, Dean.”

“Uh. Thanks. I used to have a little more control. BTA.”

“BTA?”

“Before. That.” Dean pointed at the sticky note. She glanced down once more.

“Oh. I see.”

“I don’t. Lemme.” Meg tugged at Madge’s arm until the other woman dropped the sticky note into her hands.

“She thinks she can be spoiled because she’s related to me,” Madge told Dean.

He looked between them. “Wait. You’re related? Are you serious right now?”

“She’s my daughter,” said Madge.

“Adopted daughter,” Meg corrected with a surly grin. She slapped the sticky note onto the counter and wheeled herself toward Garth. “Hey, G-man. How’s the pie going?” 

“Give me a hand putting the cookies in the top oven?” Garth opened the door and Meg slid the tray in. “Thanks. The pie has a few more minutes to get out and then another five to cool. Madge, do we have ice cream for the apple pie and whipped cream for the cherry?”

“Of course I do, honey. It’s in the fridge.”

Her voice still sounded overwhelmingly like they were all children, sickeningly sweet and condescending, but Dean found that he was getting used to it. And it was also a little calming. It reminded him a bit of when he was younger and didn’t have his ego to worry about.

Dean’s phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket. “You guys mind if I take this?”

“Go ahead and put it on speaker, if you like,” Madge said. “Garth clips his to his shirt when he’s doing things, and I do believe you’ll have pie to eat soon.”

Dean couldn’t stop the smile spreading across his face. “Thanks.” He flipped open the phone and put it on speaker before dropping it back onto his lap. “Hello?”

“Hello, Dean.” Castiel. He sounded gruffer than usual.

“Hey, Cas.”

“Cas?” Meg wiggled her eyebrows. “He sounds attractive. Wanna hook me up, Dean?”

He flipped her off. “What’s up?”

“Are you…busy?” And then, right afterwards, there was a muttered curse. “I’m so sorry, Dean. I seem to have forgotten you had plans before our meeting at the Roadhouse.”

“Already taken, apparently,” Garth whispered to Meg and Madge loudly.

“Wow, contraction. That’s an improvement,” Dean said. “It’s alright, Cas. I’m not too busy.”

“See if he’ll join us for pie,” Meg hissed. “I must meet this man.”

“Uh. Meg wants to know if you want pie.”

“Or cookies,” said Garth.

“Or cookies,” Dean said.

Castiel made a humming sound. “Cookies and pie. That does sound rather tempting.”

“So come,” Meg yelled across the kitchen. “Send him the address, dipwad.”

“You wanna come, Cas?”

“I would like that. Will you text me the address?”

“Yeah, sure. It’s right by the school.”

“Then I should be there in about ten minutes, if all goes to plan. Thank you for the invite, Dean. I apologize for the interruption.”

“Nah, it’s cool. See you soon.”

“Likewise.” There was a click when Cas hung up. Dean picked up his phone before sending the address and accepting the pie Garth was handing him. 

“So.” Meg wheeled herself toward Dean. “Spill. Who’s the sexy voice on the other end of the line?”

Dean stared at her for a moment.

“Oh, shove it, Dean-o. Who’s Cas and are you dating him?”

“I’m not dating him. He’s my kid brother’s history teacher.”

Meg grinned. “You rebel. Banging your brother’s teacher? How old is he?”

“I’m not banging him. And how the hell would I know? I met him last week.”

“And already flirting. You slut, you.”

“The fuck? I’m not dating him and I’m not  _ banging _ him. And I wasn’t flirting.”

“Were too.” Meg stared at him for a moment. “Huh. You actually think you were speaking like a normal human being.”

“I was!” Dean said heatedly.

“Okay, okay, hot stuff. Calm your tits before you explode. If you won’t claim the sexy voice, then I will. He’s hot, right?”

“That’s quite enough, Meg, sweetheart,” Madge finally cut in. “Dean, eat your pie. The ice cream is all going to melt.”

Dean shoved a forkful into his mouth and moaned in pleasure.

“Lay low with the weird noises, bud,” Meg said.

“Are you like this with everybody?”

“Like what?” Meg batted her eyelashes. “I’m an angel.” She smiled at Dean and put a spoonful of cherry pie into her open mouth. Madge and Garth snorted simultaneously. “Don’t listen to them. I’m an angel.”

There was a knock at the door. “That must be your friend,” Madge sang, skipping toward the door. “This is good, Dean. You’re opening up to the group and introducing us to your friends.”

“Not really my friend, but okay.” Dean shrugged and stabbed an apple slice.

“Hello!” Madge squealed as soon as they heard the door open. “You must be Dean’s friend! I’m Madge. Madge Carrigan, but you can call me Madge.”

“It is my pleasure to meet you.” Castiel’s voice was deep and loud. “My name is Castiel Novak.”

“Weeeell, Castiel Novak, come on in. How does pie sound to you?”

“Pie sounds delicious.” 

“Does she always do that?” Dean whispered to Meg, leaning toward her a bit. “Greet everybody by their first and last name the first time she meets them?”

“That’s just her thing. It’s a little weird, I know. But you get used to it after a while.” She stopped talking when Castiel walked in, and her mouth dropped open. “So  _ this _ is Cas,” she said. Her voice was full of pleasure.

“Hello,” said Castiel. “Hello, Dean.”

“Hey, Cas.”

“I’m Meg.” Meg held out her hand toward the teacher and gave him a sultry smile. “It’s a pleasure, Clarence.” 

Castiel tilted his head at her.

“It’s a nickname, Cas,” Dean said. “You know. From that one Christmas movie.”

“It’s A Wonderful Life,” said Madge, with her gloved hands reaching into the oven. 

“Not really,” replied Dean immediately.

“No. That’s the name of the movie. It’s A Wonderful Life.”

“The pleasure is mine, Meg,” Castiel said, his voice halting the melee.

“I’m Garth,” said Garth, waving a hand. “What kind of pie do you want? Cherry, lemon, or apple?”

“Does the cherry pie come with whipped cream?”

“It does.”

“Then cherry pie sounds lovely, thank you.”

“Have a seat, Cas.” Dean gestured at the table and wheeled himself to an empty spot. It was an eight person table, but there were only three chairs. He took the empty spot on the far right, scooting over a bit so he would have elbow room and space to move his wheels, if he needed to. He moved the pie from his lap to the table. When Castiel got his pie, he took the chair next to Dean.

“This does not seem like any therapy session that I’ve heard of,” Castiel said, his eyebrows drawing together.

“That’s because some of our members are on hiatus,” Meg said. She took the place to Castiel’s left. “We get a break today. So tell me a little about yourself, Clarence. You got a family?”

“I do.” 

Meg waited a beat. “Are you going to tell us anymore than that? What about your siblings? Do you have siblings?”

“I have a few siblings, yes.”

“What are their names? How old are they?”

Castiel took a bite of his pie. “Michael is the oldest. He is…in the family business. As is my cousin, Zachariah. After Michael is Luci. He disappeared a while ago to do—well, nobody knows what he left for. He seems to have his best interest at heart. It isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but he does tend to get people hurt in the process. My father, well, let’s just say he was not overly upset when Luci got locked up. Uriel is next, and then me. My two younger siblings are Sam and Anna. Sam is the youngest.” 

“You have a brother named Lucy?” Meg let out a laugh. “Man, and I thought your name was unfortunate.” 

“Luci, short for Lucifer. Sam is short for Samandriel and Anna is short for Anael.”

“What’s with the names, man?” Dean asked. “Micha _ el _ , Samandri _ el _ , Ana _ el _ , Uri _ el _ , Casti _ el _ —”

“And Zachariah and Lucifer, yes,” said Cas, earning a look of amusement from the other people in the room. “They are all angels. My father was rather fond of the names of the bible, and he felt the names of the prophets were too…common for his family. The angel names were not so frequently used.”

“He named you weird names so you could be special?” Meg raised one thin eyebrow.

“That is the reason he gave to us when we asked. I am not entirely convinced that is true.” Cas finished his pie and began scraping up the extra cherries on his plate. 

“Even if that was the reason,” said Dean, “Why the hell would you name one of your kids after the devil?” 

Castiel turned to look at him. “You seem to forget that Lucifer was an angel, as well, Dean. Anna used to say that naming him Lucifer doomed him to the life he led. He left as soon as he could, went south, and next thing we knew, he was in prison.” He chuckled softly. “Michael always did say Texas was hell. When Uriel was eighteen, he went to see if he could get Lucifer out. That was a few years ago. We haven’t heard from him since.”

“You have a seriously fucked up family, man,” said Dean, shaking his head. “No offence.”

Castiel looked like he was about to say something, but he closed his mouth and nodded.

“So who’s Gabriel? He in the family biz too?”

“No. He’s pretty far from that. He’s the younger brother of Zachariah, and he doesn’t like the whole family conflict. Gabriel was very close to Luci before he left, as was Michael. As Michael was already in the family business, he was under no pressure to go after him, but Gabriel was younger and had to choose between Michael and Luci. He chose…well, he chose the way I went. He didn’t go into the family business, and he didn’t go after Luci. He went his own way.”

“How nice,” Meg said. She didn’t sound the least bit sarcastic, which surprised Dean a little bit. 

“I suppose so, yes. The family hounds us constantly.”

Meg leaned toward Castiel. “Does your family have your good looks?”

Castiel’s brow furrowed again. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“She’s flirting with you, Cas,” said Garth, who had moved to sit across from them. He had a bowl of ice cream in front of him that was drenched in chocolate syrup and sprinkles, which he was now topping with whipped cream.

Castiel nodded, and Dean stifled a laugh. “I apologize for my confusion. I am not accustomed to flirtation.”

“Really?” Meg looked genuinely surprised. “Attractive guy like you? Nobody is ever interested?”

“They might be. I am unable to detect when somebody is flirting with me.” Castiel shrugged as he said this, as if this information didn’t particularly bother him. Of course it didn’t. Dean snorted.

“I can help you out, if you want.” Meg had apparently already recovered from her shock. “It’ll be fine. I’ll teach you the perks of being human.”

Castiel frowned. “I am human.”

“A normal human, Clarence. Interested?”

“I suppose I am.”

“Fantastic. Hand over your phone so I can punch in my digits.” She held out a hand, and Castiel fished his phone from his jacket pocket and passed it over. 

“This is good,” said Madge warmly. “Let’s all share an interesting fact about ourselves, okay? Something not related to any injuries we have. Since Castiel started, I’ll go next. An interesting fact about myself is that I used to be really big on Christmas, until my darling Meg decided that she was going to—and I quote— _ die _ if I didn’t stop.”

“She was ridiculous,” Meg mumbled. “Dancing Santa on the mantle and everything.”

“You don’t have a mantle,” pointed out Castiel.

“If we had a mantle,” said Meg, “There would be a dancing Santa on it. Every day. Every day was Christmas to mom.” 

“How about you go next, Garth?”

Garth quickly swallowed another spoonful of ice cream. “I have a fully functioning mother, but my Uncle Bobby was the one who raised me. Well, he isn’t really my uncle, but he’s family, you know? I spent a lot of time at his garage.”

“Wait,” said Dean. “Wait! Not Bobby Singer?” 

Garth blinked. “Yeah. Bobby Singer. Do you know him?”

“Do I know him? Holy shit. That guy is like a dad to me.”

The other man’s gaunt face lit up. “How come I’ve never seen you around?”

“I have no idea. Maybe we just missed each other.”

“What an odd coincidence,” observed Castiel, accepting a cookie from the plate Madge was sliding toward him. He frowned down at it. “I probably shouldn’t eat this. We still do have lunch to eat, Dean.”

Dean grabbed two cookies. “I’m sure we’ll have room, Cas.”

“Your turn, Meg,” urged Madge.

“You know everything about me.”

“The group doesn’t.”

“My hair is actually blonde,” said Meg. “Moving on. Your turn, Dean.”

“I was almost a model,” Dean supplied. Castiel looked at him with a strange expression. “What? You don’t think I could pull it off?”

“I’m sure you could,” he said.

“Then what?”

Before Castiel could answer, Dean’s phone rang again, and he put it on speaker.

“Yo.” 

“Hey, Dean. Are you ready to be picked up?”

“Already?”

“The email said the session was shorter.”

Dean looked toward Madge, who nodded. “Huh. Well, I’ll just meet you at the Roadhouse, then. I’ve got a ride.”

“You don’t need to do that—”

“We’re going to the same place.”

There was a moment of silence, then Sam’s voice very slowly said, “Castiel?”

“Hello, Sam,” said Castiel. “I visited for pie. It’s quite good.”

“Oh! Hi! We’ll meet you there, then?”

“That’s what I said, Samantha. You want me to bring you some pie?”

“If there’s some cherry there, then sure. See you later, jerk.”

“Bye, bitch.” Dean clicked the phone off and looked back up to meet the eyes of three very confused people.

“That was…rather odd,” said Castiel.

“What was? Oh. The jerk slash bitch thing? It’s just a thing we do. No big deal. Our relationship revolves around mutual insults.”

“How old is your brother?” Meg asked curiously.

“Don’t even think about it, sunshine,” Dean said. “He’s seventeen.”

Meg visibly wilted. “Well, at least I have Cas.”

“You have…me?”

“Can we get some pie to go, Madge?” Dean wheeled himself toward the kitchen and peered over the counter. “Like, a lot of pie to go? I’m going to eat it all.”

“I’ll put some in a container,” said Madge. She beamed at him and pulled out a large circular container.

“Take it all,” Garth shouted from the dining room. “I can just make more for M&M!”

“I hate it when he says that,” Meg growled, giving him a death stare. “M&M. Seriously. I am my own entity, Garth.”

“Your friends are very interesting, Dean.” Castiel had moved to stand behind Dean, a little too close for comfort.

“Whoa, man. Personal space.”

“My apologies.” Castiel moved back a few steps.

“And they aren’t really my friends. I just…well, I just met them.”

“Excuse me?” Meg crossed her arms. “We’re his friends, Clarence. Don’t let him tell you otherwise. And you did meet us before, you asshole. You may have freaked the fuck out, but you met us.”

“Wasn’t my fault,” Dean said, but the words sounded false in his mouth. If that night hadn’t happened, he wouldn’t have freaked out. If he hadn’t fucked everything up that night, the accident would have never happened. 

“Wasn’t anybody’s fault.” Madge handed him the pie. “Can you two get out okay?”

“I’m sure I can handle any problems that arise, thank you,” said Castiel. He took the pie from her. “Thank you for your hospitality, Madge.”

“Don’t be a stranger.”

Meg flicked him a piece of paper. “That has my and Garth’s numbers. You better fucking text us before you even start your date.”

“Not a date. It’s with my brother.”

“Still. Text us so we’ll have your number.”

“Will do.”

Castiel opened the door so Dean could wheel himself out.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> //very minor nsfw in the beginning

Dean:  _ Happy now? _

Meg:  _ If this is Dean Winchester, then I am very happy. Give Clarence a kiss for me. _

Dean:  _ Fuck off _

Meg:  _ I think you mean jack off _

Dean:  _ I did not need that image in my head _

Meg:  _ How do you type with one hand, anyway? _

Castiel switched gears. “You can turn on the radio, if you want. I don’t know what you like to listen to.”

“Eh, the good stuff. Led Zeppelin, Metallica, et cetera.”

Castiel gave him a look. “I…I do not believe I have heard or heard of them.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“I am not.”

Dean switched on the radio and scrolled to his favorite station. “Okay, this is Led Zeppelin. Listen closely. This is one of their more famous songs.”

Castiel listened for a moment. “What is it called?”

“Stairway to Heaven.”

Castiel seemed amused. “How appropriate for my family.”

Dean looked back down at his phone.

Dean:  _ I also use other things _

Meg:  _ Smooth _

Meg:  _ Have fun on your date _

Meg:  _ I want details _

“I wanted to warn you about Gabriel beforehand,” said Castiel suddenly, “And I suppose that would be now.”

“Shoot.”

“He is very…straightforward.”

“Sammy told me that he spoke his mind. Which is cool, I mean. I’m used to it.”

“I mean straightforward with his affections.” Castiel pulled into the parking lot and turned off the car, taking a deep breath.

“What do you—”

“Dean!” Sam knocked on the window. His face was a little red, like he had been running. “Hey! Gabe’s already inside. Do you need help, Dean?”

“I never need help,” Dean bit out. He opened up the door without waiting for Sam to move aside, and the younger boy made another bitch face at him. “Oh, shove it. Did you order for us?”

“Well, you and I never need to order. Ellen already has our food cooking. I didn’t know what kind of burger you would want, though, Cas, so you’ll have to pick something.”

Castiel pushed open the door and slid out. “I haven’t really been here before. How is the food?”

“The food’s awesome,” Dean told him. He moved into his chair. “Come on. Let’s get inside.”

  
  


Castiel could tell something was bothering Dean, even though he had only seen the man a few times. His smile seemed fake and forced, as if he were putting on a show for somebody. Cas hoped that the show wasn’t put on for him. He pushed open the door and held it open so Sam and Dean could get inside without having the hindrance. Sam voiced his thanks and Dean gave him a small, tight nod.

The Roadhouse was as busy as Castiel expected it to be. It was full of people that seemed already familiar with one another, as if they had known each other their whole lives. Castiel felt like an invader of their privacy. He wasn’t part of this family. Even Dean, who Cas knew hadn’t been to the restaurant in almost a year, still greeted every customer and worker like they were old friends. For a fleeting moment, he wondered if Gabriel, sitting across the room at a table that was missing a chair, felt like an outsider as well, but he pushed the thought aside. Gabriel didn’t really care about these things. All he talked about was getting laid and getting drunk. It didn’t really bother Castiel, but he wished that he and his cousin could be more relatable.

Dean wheeled into the empty spot and Sam took the empty seat beside him. Castiel slid in next to Gabriel, who gave them a cheeky grin. “Sam. Cassie. And you must be Dean.” He finished with sparkling eyes, looking directly at Dean. The other man shrugged carelessly.

“That’s me,” he said. He nodded at Castiel’s cousin. “You’re Gabriel?”

“The best member of the family,” Gabe answered. He leaned toward Dean, who happened to be sitting across him. “Also the most attractive, but hey, let’s not hurt Cassie’s feelings.” He smirked conspiratorially before settling back into his seat. Castiel wanted to say something, to scold Gabriel for his blunt flirting, but he was halted by an older woman who had come to stand by their table. She was still beautiful, even with the wrinkles on her face. She was simply striking. If there was one thing that Castiel could appreciate, it was beautiful people. He glanced toward Sam and Dean, then quickly looked back at the woman.

“Dean Winchester, where the hell have you been? I haven’t seen you in months.” Her voice had a slight drawl to it, and was stern like a mother’s. She planted two hands on her hips and glared down at Dean.

“Sorry, Ellen.” Dean’s face, for the first time that day, twisted into a slight smile. He didn’t sound sorry at all, but Castiel had the feeling that he would be, soon. Ellen did not seem like the type of person you would mess with.

“Oh, can it. You could pick up a phone every now and then and tell me what’s going on with your life.” Ellen leaned down and wrapped Dean in a tight hug. “How have you been? I’m tired of hearing everything secondhand from Sam.”

“I’m…I’m good. I’m doing fine.” The words were obviously a lie.

“Why don’t I believe a word you say?” Ellen sighed and looked toward the rest of them, and her eyes lingered on Castiel. “So I already met Gabriel. But who is this young man?”

“My name is Castiel,” he said, holding out a hand. He couldn’t help but notice the quick glance Ellen shot toward Dean, her eyebrows rising, incredulous.

“Well,” she said, “Nice to meet you, Castiel. You see anything on the menu that you like?”

Castiel looked down at the folded plastic-coated paper in his hand. “I haven’t had the chance to look through the menu yet. What kind of burgers do you have?”

Ellen snorted. “Well, since you’re a friend of the Winchesters, I can just about put anything together for you. We have everything but I refuse to put gold on food. Just tell me what you want and I’ll cook it up myself.”

Her voice was gruff, but when she said that she would cook it up herself, Castiel believed her. He could tell that this woman did not mess around, and that she took her job very seriously. “You don’t need to do that,” he said finally. “Could you surprise me, though? I’m not too picky with food, and I feel I can trust your judgment.”

“Surprise you?” Ellen looked pleased. “Will do. Anything else I can get you boys?”

“A cup of coffee,” Dean said. He dropped his hand onto the table and gave Ellen a sideways grin that was neither happy nor teasing, but like he knew she was expecting it. “The nastiest you got.” 

“Strawberry lemonade,” Sam said, and Castiel requested tea. Gabriel swirled his beer in response.

“Strawberry lemonade is pink,” Dean observed when Ellen walked away. He cast a meaningful look toward Sam. “Men are not supposed to consume pink beverages.”

“Whatever.” Sam rolled his eyes. 

“DEAN WINCHESTER.”

The new voice was loud, so loud that Castiel wouldn’t have been surprised if everybody in the room had heard it. The four men turned to look toward the kitchen, where a young blonde girl was bounding toward them. She was pretty, Castiel thought, like a younger version of Ellen. The girl ran right up to Dean and punched him hard on his right shoulder.

“ _ Ow _ ,” Dean said, but he didn’t sound offended or surprised.

“You fucking jerk,” the girl snarled. “What, you can’t speak to your best friend, huh? You can’t even pick up the _ fucking phone _ ?”

“Hi, Jo,” Dean said weakly. He rubbed his shoulder with a slight grimace on his face. Jo put her hands on her hips—the exact same gesture Ellen had done just a few minutes before. 

“I hate you,” she said.

“Mmhmm, of course you do.”

“No, I fucking hate you.”

Sam was grinning in his seat, watching the interaction calmly.

“I know you do, Jo. I know.” Dean chuckled and grabbed the back of her neck, pulling her toward him so he could press his lips to hers. She shoved him away.

“Don’t you dare think I won’t kill you,” she said, but she was smiling. “I won’t give you a break just because you’re a cripple.”

“And don’t think for a second that I can’t take you down,” Dean shot back. Castiel looked at Gabriel, his eyes wide, but his cousin was too engrossed in watching the two. “How’ve you been, Jo?”

“Fuck you.”

“You and Ellen getting along alright?”

Jo pulled up a chair between Dean and Gabriel and plopped down. She untied the apron strings around her neck as she spoke. “God, she’s impossible.  _ You can’t go there, Jo _ ,  _ Don’t do that, Jo _ , and on and on. It’s awful.”

Dean seemed amused. “If your mother was anybody else, I would be tempted to stand up for you.”

“Yeah, yeah, my mother’s terrifying. But ever since, you know,  _ Dad _ , she’s not letting me do anything.” Jo peered around the table, seemingly noticing the other people for the first time. “Oh, hello. Who’re all you?”

“I’m Sam,” said Sam. He gave her a little wave, and she snorted.

“Not you, dumbass. Who’s Mr. Chuckles and Sergeant Dreamy?”

Castiel leaned toward Gabriel. “I’m not chuckling.” He got an elbow in response.

“Gabe,” said Gabriel, nodding. “We met before.”

She frowned for a fraction of a second. “Oh. Right. You’re that douche who was asking about Dean.”

Dean’s expression darkened as Castiel watched. The other man seemed to retreat inside himself, putting up a wall that Ellen and Jo had just seemed to take down. Gabriel didn’t notice. He was grinning and sipping from his beer glass. “That I was.”

Jo poked a finger into his chest. “Stay out of his life, douche.”

“I’ll try my very hardest.” He didn’t sound very sincere. Castiel wanted to smack him for it, and he had never wanted to hit his cousin before in his life. At least, not this cousin. Zachariah brought out the worst in him.

“What about you?” Jo turned to Castiel abruptly, apparently done with Gabriel. “Blue-eyes. You wearing contacts?”

Castiel frowned. What did that mean? He touched a finger to his glasses to make sure they were still there. “Uh. No.”

She smiled. “I was kidding. What’s your name?”

“My name is Castiel.” He held out a hand across the table, and Jo’s reaction was much the same as Ellen’s. Raised eyebrows at Dean, then a hesitant reach, followed by a strong hand that gripped his palm and fingers tightly. Castiel looked toward Dean. The other man was still looking small in his wheelchair, his right arm curled around himself protectively. Was it the bringing up of his past that made him like that? Or was it the fact that Gabriel had been prying? Whatever it was, it had made Dean very upset. Castiel wanted to see that genuine smile again. How long did you have to know Dean to get that smile out of him? Castiel found himself wishing he wanted to be the one to bring out that smile, to say those right words that made his eyes light up with his mouth, rather than being on the receiving side of Dean’s fake happiness. He didn’t want Dean to pretend to be amused, to be happy. He wanted to actually make him happy.

“Yo. Space cadet.” Jo was speaking to him again. Castiel looked back at her, and she smirked at him with a knowing look in her eyes. What was that implying? “How did you meet these two dipwads? And the douche.”

“The…douche,” said Castiel, and Gabriel sent him a dirty look, “Is my cousin. Sam is my student, and I met Dean at conferences.”

“Your  _ student _ ?” Jo rested her elbows on the table, interested. “How old are you? Because, I gotta say, you look as young as Dean.”

“I am twenty-three,” Castiel said.

“No shit. And you’re a teacher?”

Castiel looked toward Dean again. He had raised his eyes and was starting to watch again, apparently interested in the new conversation. “I’m not really his  _ teacher _ . I’m subbing. I’m not entirely qualified for a teaching job.”

“But how are you even qualified for being a substitute?”

Castiel blushed and looked down. Gabriel decided to take over.

“Cassie here doesn’t like to admit it, but he’s a super genius. He graduated early, when he was thirteen.”

“Holy shit,” said Jo.

“No kidding. And then he graduated college when he was nineteen. He was only allowed to teach the younger kids, first, because the schools thought that the older students might not take him seriously.” Gabriel finished off with a sigh, as if he were disappointed in either the students or the school. It didn’t surprise Castiel—Gabriel was always complaining about how somebody was always holding Castiel back in one way or another. When they were younger, he would protest to Castiel’s teachers. It was the worst on his first day of school, when Castiel was in kindergarten, perched on a stool in the back of the room either coloring pictures of reading a book that the teachers would raise their eyebrows at. The first day he brought a book to school— _ Slaughterhouse Five _ by Kurt Vonnegut—the teachers had frowned and they had tried to give him a picture book. It had taken a temper tantrum from Gabe and Castiel reading aloud the first whole chapter to finally convince them that he was not messing around, nor trying to impress anybody. He was simply wanting to read something his level. The next week he was being transferred into a higher class. In the next month he was being pulled out of school and he was personally tutored until he was eleven, when the school felt he was old enough to finish his last two years in high school with mostly electives and a whole seven thousand teenagers that liked to stare. Castiel finally blinked his way to the present when a waiter who Dean called Adam arrived with their drinks and an extra beer for Jo.

“You not drinking or what?” Jo tilted her bottle toward Dean. He shrugged and downed his bitter smelling coffee. 

“The doctor tells me it’s bad for my liver.”

“So what? That never stopped you before.”

Dean squinted. “Maybe I’m on a diet. And why the fuck are you drinking, anyway? You’re still a minor.”

“I’m eighteen.”

“Drinking age is twenty-one, short bus.”

Jo rolled her eyes and looked back at Castiel. “So. Dreamy, apparently also a genius.”

Castiel slid his eyes toward Jo again, and he felt like he were forcing them away from Dean. “So,” he replied.

“You a good teacher? I don’t think I’ve seen you at the school. What do you teach?”

“Oh. Greek and Roman history. I sometimes stick some Enochian in there, too. I…well, I hope I’m a good teacher.”

“He’s a good teacher,” Sam said. “Man, where are our burgers?” 

“Right here.” Ellen swooped by and dropped some plates onto the table. Castiel’s burger looked delicious and smelled even better, and sat next to a pile of oily fries. He licked his lips, and couldn’t help looking back across the table at Dean. The Winchester was watching him with a strange expression on his face. “Enjoy. Joanna Beth, are you ever gonna start working again?”

Jo smiled cheekily. “I might.”

Ellen narrowed her eyes. “You better straighten up.”

“I’ll be there. Gimme a second with my bestie.” With this, Jo hooked a thin arm around Dean’s neck and pulled his head toward her. “Look at him. He’s so cute.”

Dean shoved her away. He had the false smile on his face again. It hurt Castiel, even though he barely knew the man. Even though most of the information he had about him he got from an unreliable cousin, who got his information from bothering people until they gave up. Even though Castiel had no connection to Dean except for the fact that he taught Dean’s younger brother. They had nothing in common. Castiel didn’t even particularly like the music that Dean listened to. He didn’t even understand most of the things that Dean said. But he could see that Dean was hurting, and it hurt Castiel. He just wanted to make this broken man happy again.

“I’m not cute,” Dean said.

“I looove you.” Jo pinched his cheeks and made kissing noises. Castiel picked up his burger and bit into it. He should probably stop staring at Dean. Jo kept looking at him with that knowing expression and it made him uneasy. The burger was delicious, as were the fries. He tried to pay attention to the taste and block out their voices, but his ears—damn them—insisted on listening in.

“You said you hated me.” His voice was teasing. Castiel forced himself not to look up, see if there was a smile accompanying that voice, see if it was real. How would he know, anyway? How would he know if it was real or not? He bit into his burger and chewed deliberately.

“God, Dean,” Sam said. His mouth was full of something, and he sounded muffled. “People are going to think you’re dating.”

“Sammy? We know everybody in here.”

“I, for one,” said Gabriel, “Think that you’re dating.”

“We’re not,” said Dean.

“Cassie thinks so, too,” Gabriel continued. “Look at him. He’s got his oh-god-they’re-going-to-make-out face. Look at him.”

The whole table quieted. Castiel looked up. Everybody was staring at him. “I do not,” he said.

“Look at his cheeks turning all red!” Jo sounded delighted. “God, he’s adorable. Dean Winchester, you better keep him.”

Dean was smiling softly. It looked real. It made Castiel’s stomach flutter just the smallest bit. “I’m planning on it.” 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sui attempt, self-harm
> 
> also comments are welcome and wanted. i thrive off of feedback pls love me

Castiel dreamed that night. Of storms and lightning and squealing tires, of fake smiles and green eyes. The dream was constantly changing and confusing, and before Castiel knew it, he was awake and staring down at his phone. A number was dialed in, and he knew who it was immediately—Dean Winchester. He had memorized the number, had stared at the little sticky note that Sam gave him with the numbers scrawled diagonally across. He stared at the phone’s bright screen for a few more minutes before deleting each number slowly, one by one, until the screen was blank and waiting for further instruction.

Castiel had gotten crushes before. He had pined after people he knew he could never get, had dated people he knew he could never stay with. Dean Winchester was not the sort of person you stayed with. Dean was not the sort of person you called at two in the morning to tell them that you were dreaming about them. He was the sort of person you watched from a distance, without the courage to say anything. Even weakened, even crippled and damaged, Dean was still powerful. He still held a sort of confidence that seemed so real and so strong that it was intimidating. And he was beautiful. People that beautiful were not approachable, not in Castiel’s experience.

Instead, he typed in a different number. Another that he had memorized almost as soon as he got it—Meg. She had been so small and vulnerable in her wheelchair, but her voice was mesmerizing, her face beautiful. Her voice was always drawling and teasing, and Castiel found that he quite liked it, that he liked making her laugh.

Dean Winchester may be unapproachable. But Meg was certainly interested. She had squeezed his thigh several times under the table while he sat next to her in her house, eating pie that their friend Garth had made. And she gave him a suggesting grin every time she did it. A relationship with Meg would never last, but it would certainly give him time, give him a distraction.

His finger hovered over the call button. Did he really want to do this? Was she that interested, anyway? So interested that she would answer a call from him dead into the night?

If she wasn’t, Castiel reasoned, he could just forget about her. Hang up, turn over in his bed, and fall back asleep. And he would dream again. Of storms, of Dean. Did he want that, instead? What was better?

He stroked the button with the pad of his thumb. He could always ask Gabriel, or call Anna up. Even Samandriel would know what to do with this. But none of them would be too pleased to be called at this time to hear about him vent out his feelings. Castiel wasn’t supposed to have feelings. He was supposed to be the quiet genius in the background, in his trench coat and backwards tie. He had always been relentlessly teased about that. But nobody knew the significance; nobody knew why this outfit was so important.

Castiel wondered briefly if Dean would understand. If he called him right now and pretended it wasn’t him that Castiel was so worked up over, and told him that he was having girl problems. That he didn’t know if she would answer the phone. He wondered if Dean would mind, if he would laugh and joke with him and tell him that it was cool, man, all cool, Cas, and then Dean would tell him about a girl he dated in the past. He couldn’t imagine Dean snapping at him. He could imagine him closing up, retreating back into that locked room within himself, but snapping at him? He couldn’t see that. And what could Dean possibly get worked up over if Castiel was just talking about girls?

Castiel shook his head and looked back down at his phone. His thumb moved down and pressed the green call button gently but firmly. He held the phone to his ear, held his breath. The phone rang once, twice, and on the third, Meg picked up. Her sultry voice made Castiel shiver under his covers, with the moonlight streaming in through the window and landing on his bare chest.

“Hello?” She sounded completely awake, but Castiel didn’t want to take any chances.

“Meg. I hope I haven’t interrupted your sleep.”

“Well, Clarence. You finally called. Kind of late into the night, eh? You a party animal?”

Castiel smiled and closed his eyes. He leaned his head back into the soft cushions of his pillow. “I’m afraid not. I’m sorry to disappoint.”

“Nah, Clarence. You couldn’t disappoint me if you tried. You and your voice.” She said the word ‘voice’ with emphasis. Castiel was rather used to it—people always commented on his voice. Meg was the first to have this kind of reaction. “So what’s up?”

Castiel took a deep breath. His hands knotted into the sheets draped across him. “Are you free Friday night? I’d like to take you to dinner.” There. It was done. There was a moment of silence. 

“I trust you have good taste,” Meg said finally. “Sure thing, Clarence. Pick me up at nine?”

He let out his breath. “That sounds good. I’ll see you then.”

“Oh, and Clarence? Call me during the week. I won’t mind at all.”

Castiel smiled. “Will do, Meg. Goodnight.” And when she returned the sentiment, he hung up and when he slept, he dreamed of dark hair and sly smiles.

  
  


Dean wheeled himself into the bathroom and made sure the door was firmly shut and locked behind him. Even if Sammy showed up, he couldn’t walk in on him. Not this time.

He turned on the shower and waited until the small room was filled with steam until he opened up the cupboard and took out the small cigar box he kept under the sink. The razors inside rattled when he set the box on the counter.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into the steam. “I’m so sorry, Mom. I’m sorry I can’t live up to your dreams. I’m sorry.” This was it, the ritual he always went through. Every single time he felt this low. The same words, the same apology. He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry I let you down, Dad. I’m sorry I’m not as strong as you. And…I’m sorry, Sam. I shouldn’t be the one you look up to. I’m not worth it.” He took out one of the razor blades and pushed his boxer shorts up far enough to see all of the scars that he had made every time before. Slowly, he dragged the blade across his skin once, twice, three times. And when the pain finally washed over him, he rinsed the blade off and dropped it back into the cigar box. He breathed in the steam as he carefully bandaged his new wounds. “I’m sorry,” he whispered again. And he turned the shower off and waited for the room to clear.

 

For the next three weeks, Dean never once left his apartment. He sat at his computer, did his job, and went into the bathroom. Sam brought groceries once a week, pleaded with Dean for an hour, and then left in defeat.

Every night, Castiel woke up and saw Dean’s number dialed into the phone. Every night, he deleted every digit and typed in Meg’s instead. They spoke until Madge insisted they stop, and then Castiel sat the rest of the night in silence. On their third date, the second week, the first kiss turned into Meg pressed up against the back of her wheelchair and Castiel, blushing furiously, backing up from where he crouched in front of her, muttering apologies. Meg had given him a bemused look.

“It’s okay, Clarence. You can ravage me all you like.” And she had grabbed his tie and yanked him toward her with a wicked smile.

That night afterwards was much like the others, but when Castiel woke, Meg was lying beside him. He turned his screen off and curled around her body.

On the last night of the third week, Castiel woke again with Meg next to him, but this time he held his phone to his ear. And it was ringing. Alarmed, he looked at the screen. Of course he was calling Dean. There wasn’t really any turning back, now. He put the phone back to his ear and waited a few more rings before the other line picked up. “Cas.” Dean’s voice sounded weak and tired. “You have shit timing, you know that?”

Castiel sat up. “Dean? Are you alright?”

The laugh that came was harsh. “Alright? Cas, I’m sitting in the middle of a steamy bathroom with a razor—” He stopped abruptly. “I should not have said that.”

Castiel was already sliding out of bed. He scribbled a quick note for Meg and stuck it onto his pillow. “Dean, what’s going on? What are you doing?” 

“I’m done, Cas. I’m…I’m holding you all back. Not you, but…Sammy. I’m not living up to what I’m supposed to be. I fucked up. I killed my parents.” He made a hissing breath. Castiel shrugged on his trench coat and grabbed his keys.

“Dean, you didn’t kill your parents.”

“How the fuck would  _ you _ know?” Dean was shouting. “You don’t fucking know anything! You don’t fucking know  _ me _ .”

“I want to, Dean. Don’t do anything stupid, please.” He got into his car and twisted the keys in the ignition. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

“I’m sitting in my bathroom, Cas. I’m digging a fucking razor into my leg. Do you want to know what I’m wearing, too? Do you want me to tell you about how many times I’ve looked at my other wrist, because I know that if I slit it, I wouldn’t feel a thing but it would keep on bleeding? I’ve got a box full of razors, Cas. You know how easy it would be?” 

“Dean, you wouldn’t do this. Not to Sam.”

“I wouldn’t, Cas? Really? I wouldn’t? You know how much better his life would be? He wouldn’t have to ever come back here and spend the time he could be using to make his life better on me. He wouldn’t have to buy groceries and waste his breath telling me to shape up because you know what? I  _ can’t _ shape up. I  _ can’t _ get better. I’m falling through this void and there’s no fucking way I can stop because there’s nothing to grab onto and all I can see is this  _ pain _ and I fucking killed my parents and I know I’m killing Sammy and I could stop it all. I can stop feeling, could stop fucking everything up and finally make something better for once.”

Castiel was speeding, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t even concerned about looking for cops. He needed to get to Dean. Could he remember the address? When he slowed to a stop at a stoplight, he closed his eyes and fished through his memories, went back to the time when he was looking at Sam’s file, flipping through the pages. Address one. That would be Azazel’s house. Address two—he saw it. There. That was where Dean lived. His eyes snapped open and he jerked the wheel to the right and continued on. “This won’t make it better, Dean.”

“Cas, I tried drinking. I tried drinking until I couldn’t feel my body anymore. And I could still think. Because I’m one of those people who always has their head. I’m not like my dad. I can’t numb myself. Even this. This. It’s just temporary. It’s brief. It’s just a distraction.” There was a hissing noise, a breath. Castiel could just see him sitting in his wheelchair, making one cut after another with his phone lying in his lap. He grit his teeth. “I don’t want to feel anymore, Cas. I don’t want the guilt anymore. I just want to be a normal human being. Why can’t I have that? Why can’t I have the apple pie life? Why did I have to screw everything up when I was fucking  _ four years old _ ?” 

“How did you screw everything up if you were just four?” He could see the apartments ahead of him. They looked dismal. They loomed up into the night sky, darkly colored and menacing. He pulled into the parking lot. 

“Castiel.” His full name sounded strange on Dean’s tongue, so serious. “Why are you trying with me? Why are you wasting your time? Why won’t you just hang up the phone and let me die?”

Castiel parked the car and opened up the door. “Because I can’t let you die, Dean.”

There was a sound like somebody choking back a sob. “Why do you care? You don’t know me. You don’t know me at all.”

What apartment was he? Castiel closed his eyes and tried to remember. “Because I want to know you, Dean. Please don’t do this.”

“I’m sorry, Cas,” Dean whispered. “Tell them I’m sorry.” There was a click. Castiel’s eyes opened.

“Dean?” Silence. “Dean!” He squeezed his eyes shut saw the number. He needed to get there fast. He bounded through the hallways, checking each door. It slowly counted down to Dean’s. He pounded a fist on the wood. “Dean, open up! Dean!” He tried the doorknob. Locked. Castiel kicked it down, had a moment of surprise at his own strength, and then rushed through the apartment. Where was the bathroom? He scanned the apartment. He could smell the steam, could feel it in the air. It was thick and humid and Castiel followed where it was thickest. There. The bathroom. He could see the steam curling out from under the door. He knocked.

“Dean,” he said. His voice sounded broken. “Dean, open the door.”

“Cas,” said Dean quietly. “Cas, I’m imagining things.”

“You aren’t imagining me. I’m here. Come on, Dean. Open the door.”

“You aren’t real,” Dean whispered. “Wake up, Dean. Wake up.” His voice was getting weaker by the second. Castiel took a deep breath.

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll open the door myself.” He kicked it hard, and the wood cracked. Dean made a small sound. Castiel promised him silently that he would replace both doors. He kicked it again, and the door fell beneath his feet. Dean was lying on the floor, his wheelchair beside him. In his lap, his phone, and a cigar box that was full of small silver blades. Castiel’s breath caught. Dean gave him a weak smile.

“I guess you aren’t my imagination,” he said. His breathing grew lighter and faster. “I thought I was dreaming about you again.”

“You aren’t,” Castiel whispered. He crouched down and pulled Dean into his lap. The other man was only wearing boxer shorts and a thin t-shirt. His right leg was scarred with small cuts, taking up almost all of the skin available. There were six fresh ones, still trickling blood onto the floor, near his knee. His left arm was also bleeding with a long cut going vertically from his wrist to the crook of his elbow. Castiel cursed and shed his trench coat, which he wrapped around Dean’s arm. “You aren’t dreaming. I’m here. Just hold on.”

“We’ve been here before, haven’t we?” Dean’s eyes looked hazy. Castiel dug into his pants pocket for his phone. “You and me. You’ve saved me before.”

“Dean, just hold on.” Castiel’s breath caught. He finally found his phone and tapped in the three necessary digits. He held the ringing phone to his ear. “Did you take anything, Dean? Any pills?”

Dean shook his head and laughed lightly. It was a cruel sound, hopeless and angry. “Pills make me sleepy.”

Didn’t cutting make him sleepy, too? His eyes were drooping, and he was growing limper the longer he rested in Castiel’s lap. It occurred to Castiel suddenly that no, Dean was not falling asleep. He was dying. He forced his attention back onto the ringing phone and hugged Dean tighter to his chest.

“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”

“I need an ambulance,” Castiel said into the phone, as urgently as he could muster. “He’s hurt.”

“What’s the address?”

Castiel told them, then added, “He has a vertical cut on his left arm. He’s left-sided hemiplegic. Please hurry.”

“The ambulance is on the way. What’s your name, sir?”

“Castiel Novak. Cas. I’m Cas.” He was growing more frantic by the second. Dean still had that sleepy smile on his face and he was gazing up at Castiel with heavy-lidded eyes.

“Cas?” he said softly.

“I’m here, Dean,” Castiel whispered back.

“I don’t want to be alone,” said Dean.

“You won’t be. You aren’t going to die.”

“Will you tell Sammy that I’m sorry? Don’t tell him how I went. Tell him I had an accident. An asthma attack.”

“You’ll have to lie to him yourself.” Castiel pressed his forehead to Dean’s. “I’m not letting you die. You have to tell him yourself, because I refuse to lie for you.”

Castiel could hear the sirens in the distance, slowly coming closer. He looked into Dean’s candy apple eyes and wondered how his life could have changed so drastically. Ever since he met Dean, he was no longer the one in the background. He had a spot. A role. A girlfriend. He was in this man’s apartment in the middle of the night, sitting in his bathroom, cradling him as he waited for the ambulance to arrive. What if he hadn’t called, even if it was by accident? What if he had woken up just as his thumb hovered above the call button, and he had drawn back and thrown it aside because he thought that he would never answer anyway? What if he had curled back into Meg like he did the previous few days and hugged her close and kissed her hair and what if he had just lain there in the dark and waited?

Dean would be dead. Dean would be dead and he would have died alone.

“I’m sorry,” Dean whispered. “I’m so sorry, Mom. I couldn’t live up to your dream.”

Castiel looked down. “What did you say?” The sirens were getting closer.

“I’m sorry.” Dean swallowed. “I’m sorry I let you down, Dad. I’m sorry I’m not as strong as you.”

“Dean.” Castiel touched his face, alarmed. “Dean, stop.”

“I’m sorry, Sam. I shouldn’t be the one you look up to.” Dean’s voice broke. “I’m not worth it.”

Castiel put his palms on both sides of Dean’s head and tried to catch his eyes. “Dean, listen to me. You need to hold on.”

“I’m sorry, Cas,” Dean said. “I’m so sorry.” His body was beginning to relax.

“Hello!” Castiel shouted. He leaned back, out the bathroom door. “In here! Hello! Help!”

Three men in dark blue uniforms came rushing in, and one woman with a severe bun followed them. They told Castiel to step aside, to move so they could treat Dean, and at first he couldn’t let go, but when one of the men took his arm and told him that they couldn’t save Dean if they couldn’t get to him, he finally unhooked his arms and scooted backward. 

“Save him,” he said. “You have to save him.”

The paramedic who had just spoken to Castiel pointed at the trench coat. “Is this yours?”

Castiel stared at it. He nodded.

“Okay, what’s your name?”

He tried to speak, but nothing would come out.

“I’m Benny,” said the paramedic. He was a bear of a man, with a scruffy beard and a drawling accent.

“Castiel,” Castiel finally got out. “Castiel Novak.” He didn’t hold out a hand like he usually did—his fingers were knotted in the fabric of his dark pants.

“What’s your connection to Dean Winchester?”

“He.” Castiel swallowed. “He is the brother of one of my students.”

“And you were speaking to him on the phone before you found him?”

“I…I accidently called him, and I didn’t want to be rude and hang up. And he answered. And he told me that I had shitty timing because he was about to kill himself.” Castiel rubbed his face, looked down at his hands, at the medics wheeling Dean out on a plastic bed. “Oh god.” His phone rang. He looked down at it.

“That’s probably somebody wondering where you are.” Benny clapped him on the back. “We took two cars. They’ll take that one to the hospital, and when you’re done on the phone I can take you in my car?”

“I have a car,” Castiel said dimly. He stared at his ringing phone blankly.

“Yeah, you probably do. But I’m not gonna let you drive, brother. You aren’t ready for that.” Benny patted him on the shoulder again. “Come outside when you’re ready. You should probably get that.” He nodded once and walked out the door. Castiel finally pressed the answer button.

“Clarence.” Meg’s voice held none of its teasing qualities that he had gotten used to. “You said you went to Dean’s? What the hell is going on?” 

“He’s…he’s on his way to the hospital.”

“My god. What happened?”

“He tried to kill himself, Meg.” Castiel forced his voice to become stonier, like it always was. He wasn’t emotional, not Castiel. That wasn’t him. He was supposed to have slightly frowning eyes, slightly parted mouth, slightly tilted head, looking confused but not too confused, and not showing any emotion besides. But this was breaking him. Castiel wasn’t sure if he could handle all of this. He put the phone down for a moment so he could deep breathe. When he brought it back, he said, “He slit his wrist, the one he can’t feel anything in. There was so much blood. Just, everywhere.” The floor, the shower curtain, his suit, his trench coat. Blood all over his trench coat. He didn’t think that he could wear that ever again. 

“Oh, Clarence.” She sounded devastated. “I’m so sorry. Do you want me to meet you at the hospital?”

Castiel closed his eyes. “I don’t know, Meg. I don’t know what to do.”

“What you need is a hug,” she said firmly. “I’ll meet you there. Do you have a ride?”

“One of the paramedics offered. I can get there. Are you sure you can get here that late?”

“I’ll badger Madge,” she said. “I’ll be fine. Just be safe, okay?”

“Okay,” he whispered. “I’ll see you there.” When he hung up, he went outside to Benny. “The door,” he said. “It was locked. I didn’t know what else to do.”

The man looked down at the splinters of wood that used to be the door. “I’ll send somebody to replace it,” he said. “I know a guy who knows a guy. You’ll be fine, and neither of you have to pay.”

Castiel felt like if he was the type who cried, he would be sobbing right now. “Thank you, Benny. You are very kind.”

Benny blew out smoke out of the side of his mouth and dropped the cigarette he was puffing on onto the ground, stomping out the flame with the toe of his boot. “Don’t I know it. The truck’s down there.” He pointed, then gestured for Castiel to lead the way. “I already called somebody to watch the apartment. They’ll be here in a minute, tops.” Castiel nodded. He climbed down each step carefully.

“I know it hurts, brother,” Benny said quietly. “Eventually the pain will be gone. Just keep that in mind.” His voice sounded a little strange. Castiel looked at him.

“You. You know Dean.”

Benny nodded. “That’s why I stayed. I would be too emotionally distraught to help any. We’ve been friends for a long time, Dean-o and I. Thank you for looking after him.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just posted a chapter like less than a week ago but I'm impatient and I want attention,,
> 
> cw for car crashes again, abuse, probably something else i'm forgetting

Dean was unconscious but in a stable condition by the time they arrived, and Meg was waiting outside his door, her hands twisting in her lap. She looked up when Castiel and Benny came closer, and wheeled herself closer so she could stretch her arms up. Castiel let himself become enveloped in them. His entire body trembled.

“Shh,” Meg murmured. “Shh. It’s okay, Clarence. He’ll get through this. We’ll get through this.”

Castiel hugged her tighter. He shivered. She kissed him hard.

  
  


Dean had woken up in the hospital a few times in his lifetime. Most of these had involved Sammy in some way—the time when Sam had gotten pneumonia from an open window, or the time when Sam had fallen out of that tree and broken up his arm, and Dean had stayed the night so John could wander off and get drunk—or they were turned around so they were about Sam. If Dean had hurt himself, he was putting Sam in danger, because what if something had happened and Dean couldn’t protect Sam? What if somebody tried to hurt Sam? What if he got hurt? How would Dean protect him? It was his fault. It was all his fault. The most recent had involved Dean almost suffocating from a panic attack, like what had happened a few months ago. He had been rushed to the hospital—the paramedics were alerted by Sam, and a little bit afterward, they told Dean that his lungs had started sucking and he was going to have to use an inhaler. A fucking inhaler. Dean could remember when he could run for miles and still breathe like he was sitting on a couch. Now he needed an inhaler.

The most recent time certainly wasn’t the most memorable, though. It had been a shitty night, already—Dean had had to leave class to fetch his father from his jail cell, and then he had had to go back and pick up Sam and deal with the judgmental glances of all the teachers that he just bailed on. What the fuck did  _ they _ know? They didn’t know shit. And then afterward, he had gone with some friends—not really friends, more like people he hung out with, and he went to a party. It wasn’t a big deal. Then somebody had started talking shit about Jo, or maybe it was John? Dean could remember getting horribly pissed at two different people, so it was probably both of them. One called Jo a whore or a slut or a bitch, and then Dean had flown at them, and when his friends were pulling him off of the bloke, somebody had said something about not expecting much from Dean, his father was a drunk, anyway. And Dean could feel the bruises on his chest, his back, his arms—he could smell the reek of alcohol on his father’s breath. He knew that John was a drunk. And he still went after them, screaming that they didn’t fucking know anything, that they were going to pay for that.

They did pay for that, dearly. Broken nose, split lip, black eye, two broken ribs. The hospital bill wasn’t big at all—all they had needed to get was painkillers. Dean could remember the guy’s look of surprise—his name was Gordon. Slippery fellow, always looking to start a fight and always by himself. He hadn’t known what Dean was capable of until he felt a fist crack his nose. And then the blood started rushing out. And Dean kept hitting. That was the last thing he remembered from that party, the crack of ribs, the painful splitting of the skin on his knuckles. He couldn’t remember stopping. He couldn’t remember getting pulled off, or the cops showing up, or the screaming of the people around them. He woke up in a hospital after that. John was standing over him, and he had the audacity to look angry. He was an angry drunk. Dean knew that, but he couldn’t help but feel that anger coil inside his stomach. Hadn’t he just defended the man? Couldn’t the man defend him, now? But he kept quiet. He waited until John’s speech had ended and he had ordered Dean to get out of that damn bed and get in the car, we’re going home. And he dragged his feet all the way through the hospital in his dirty, bloody clothes, all the way to the car.

When he woke up this time, there was no John standing over him. His hands didn’t hurt, but he felt weak and lightheaded and his thigh stung a bit, but that was normal. He was used to that, and he kind of liked it.

The light hurt his eyes when he opened them. He blinked up at the white ceiling, wondering why hospitals had to be so bright and sterile. This was the last thing that a person just waking up wanted to see, especially a person like him, who had just slit his wrist. He had thought for a brief moment that he was in the mental hospital. That wouldn’t be fun at all. But hey, at least they wouldn’t have to chain him to a wheelchair. He was already stuck in one.

He cracked his lips open and a soft breath escaped from them. Where was everybody? Wasn’t somebody supposed to be standing over him, giving him a worried, pitying look that he hated so badly? Wasn’t there supposed to be at least one person there, so he could growl at them and push them away and pretend they weren’t? Dean turned his head so he could see out the door. He could see a familiar profile, the familiar puff of hair on top. Cas. That bastard. He was wearing just his suit—no tie, no trench coat. It was a little odd, seeing him like that. Beside him sat Meg. She held one of his hands tightly, and brought it up every so often to her lips so she could give it a soft butterfly kiss. Then, standing across the hallway, was Benny. How many times had Benny saved his life, had saved Sam’s? How many times had the man had to show up at his apartment door to drag him out into an ambulance?

It was Benny who saw him first. His whole face lit up and he said something to Cas and Meg, then bounded straight in. “Brother,” he said breathlessly, “You feeling all better? How about a beer?”

Dean gave him a smile. That was all it was, like handing them out. He was running a bit low, though. He was getting a bit tired. 

“Water?” Castiel said the word so severely, so seriously. Dean finally got himself to nod. 

“Well,” said Meg, wheeling up to his bedside. She grabbed the remote hanging off the end and lowered the bed so she could get close to his face. “Dean Winchester. You haven’t shown up for therapy in a while.”

Dean coughed. “Your mother’s therapy is shit.” This surprised a laugh out of her.

“Yeah. Yeah, it is. But we’re your friends, okay? You aren’t allowed to do this anymore.”

“Do what?”

She tapped his leg. Dean winced. “Yeah, see? You know what would make that stop hurting? Maybe if you stopped fucking  _ cutting  _ yourself.” She sounded angry. Dean didn’t really know why—he wasn’t a particularly big part of her life. Why would whether or not he lived or died affect her in any way?

“Meg,” Castiel said quietly. She moved her wheelchair back a fraction of an inch.

“Sorry. I’m so goddamn angry with him.”

Benny shook his head. “We all are.”

“Don’t be,” Dean said. “Don’t care.”

“We have to care,” said Benny. “Damn. We can’t  _ not _ care. I’ve saved your life half a dozen times. How could I not care whether or not you’ll breathe again? And your friend here, Cas. What do you think he was doing there? He wasn’t trying to dance with you, brother. He was saving your life. You’re alive because we saved you, and we think now we’re just going to let you die?”

Dean jutted his chin out and looked toward Castiel. “Why were you there?” He sounded wrecked, even to himself. “Why were you there? I told you that I was done. I told you that I couldn’t move on.”

Castiel was rigid, staring in the corner of the room with the water cup still in his hand. He was just staring at Dean. Which was, you know, normal. He had done it before, especially at the Roadhouse. How could one  _ not  _ notice if this blue-eyed weirdo was pretty much penetrating you with their gaze? But this time he looked almost angry. Castiel didn’t get angry. Dean couldn’t remember Castiel ever getting angry, but, then again, he hadn’t really known him for that long. He couldn’t really see it. But here he was, standing stock still and glaring at Dean with frightening ferocity. It made Dean shrink into his pillows a little.

“I heard you,” he said finally. “You were very clear.”

Dean couldn’t seem to stop himself from asking the next question: “Then why the  _ fuck _ didn’t you  _ stay away _ ?” 

“Because,” Castiel shouted. “Because I heard you and I knew you were hurting and I couldn’t just  _ stay at home _ and  _ wait _ ! I knew you were going to kill yourself! Do you really think, Dean, that I could just hang up after I heard you? Do you really think that I could just ignore that? I dialed your  _ fucking _ number on  _ accident _ , and you picked up! And you know what? If you hadn’t picked up I wouldn’t have come! You would have gotten exactly what you wanted! So you know what? I saved your fucking ass because I know that you deserved to be saved. I saved your  _ fucking _ ass because you were  _ meant _ to be saved!” He threw the cup of water down and stormed out of the room. Meg threw a glance at Dean that he couldn’t read, then went after Castiel, spinning her wheels determinedly. Dean looked back at Benny, who was watching him carefully.

“I don’t think he’s ever said the word fuck before,” said Dean, unable to think of anything else.

“You think this is funny, Dean?” His name was not something that Benny said often. “Do you know how destroyed that man was? You think you’re helping people out by trying to leave. You’re only going to destroy them.”

“I’m not.” Dean shook his head. “I’m helping. I know I’m helping.”

“Think about Jo and Ellen, Dean. Think about Bobby. You think they’ll just shrug and move on when they find out that you’re dead?”

“No. No! I know they won’t. But they’ll move on. Everybody can move on.”

Benny knelt by his bedside. His eyes were caring and gentle, but his voice was firm. “Dean, I want you to picture just exactly how angry that Castiel would be if you died. Can you imagine how destroyed he would be? He wouldn’t be able to move on. You would practically shove him into a situation like this.” He pointed at the bandage on Dean’s useless arm.

“Why?” Dean’s voice broke. “Why does he care? He doesn’t know me. He doesn’t know me at all.”

Benny grasped Dean’s hand. It was something he had done so many times before. He had never shied away from it, and neither had Dean. It simply was something that they did, something that brought them both comfort—Dean had somebody there, and Benny knew from the responding pressure that Dean was alive. “I don’t know, brother,” he said. “Maybe he doesn’t need to know you. Maybe he cares anyway.”

“I don’t want him to,” Dean whispered.

“I know, brother.” Benny squeezed his hand. “I know.”

 

Dean dreamed again that night. It continued on from his usual nightmare, after he had already fallen to the hood of the car and after he had heard the voice, after he could see the feet approaching the car. A hand broke through the window and grasped his shoulder. It was so cold compared to the heat of the car that it felt like it burned. He gasped. “No,” he forced out, “My dad. You have to get my dad. Get my dad. Save my dad.” That was what was important. He needed to get his dad out, to safety. Then this stranger with their cold hands could pull him out, could burn into his shoulder again. He pushed their hand away again, but it grabbed him again, grabbed his arms, began pulling him out. He thrashed. He fought the hands and screamed himself hoarse. Save his father. Save him instead. Don’t save him, not now. Not when he had already screwed up so harshly.

And then he was out of the car, and he was being pulled away. And then, only just over twenty feet from the car, it exploded. Debris rained around them. Dean screamed for his father, for his mother, then turned away and cried.

 

Dean jolted awake with a gasp, reaching out frantically for the panic button. He couldn’t breathe again. He never could, after his nightmares. Sometimes he could reach his inhaler in time, but this was not one of those times. He pressed the panic button again, and then once more before he reached up and clawed at his throat. Somebody rushed in and calmed him down, gave him what he needed, and made sure he was okay before they could leave and take care of the more important patients. He waved them away and settled back into the sheets, staring up at the sterile white ceiling. That voice had sounded so familiar. He just couldn’t place it. Who was it? The first person who had saved him? Who had pulled him from that fiery car?

He had been in a fire once before that one, the one in Sam’s nursery that Mary had died in. He had stood outside that door and screamed for his mother, and John had shoved Sam in his arms and told him to go—to hurry, to run. Dean had run. It was the first time that he had had to save himself. That stranger was the first person who had saved him. They didn’t even have anything in it for them, and they had saved him.

Dean needed to find them, wherever they were in the world. It was five years ago, but he bet if he looked hard enough, he could find them. If he asked around for long enough. He could finally find the fucker that made it so he could live through all of this shit. He wasn’t sure whether he would thank them or murder them.

He would cross that bridge when he got to it.

 

When he woke up again, Sam was sitting beside his table. “I’m not saying sorry,” he said immediately, reaching for his water. When he came up empty, Sam tossed him a water bottle. “Thanks.” Sam’s jaw tightened.

“Dean, I just got pulled out of school.”

“What? It’s Sunday, isn’t it?”

“No, Dean. It’s Wednesday.”

Dean made a ‘huh, really?’ face and shrugged. “I can’t ever keep track of the days. What classes did you miss just now?”

“Is everything a joke to you, Dean? I had no idea where you were. I couldn’t call you, or contact you. I was flipping out. And every time I tried to go to your apartment, there’s this guy standing outside telling me that I can’t go in because I’m not Dean Winchester.”

“You lucky bastard.”

“Shut up for a second,” Sam snapped. “I was going crazy. And then finally Cas notices and he tells me what happened. I had to hear from my  _ teacher _ , Dean. And then the office pulled me out to visit you during Cas’ class because he felt like I couldn’t concentrate.”

Dean had grown quiet. “What did Cas tell you?” He didn’t remember much from what happened that night. Just hearing Castiel’s voice through all the haze, then seeing him standing there in his glorious trench coat. His intense blue eyes inches from his, his hot breath on his mouth.

Sam only looked irritated. “He told me that you ‘had an accident’, Dean, and that you almost died. What the hell does that mean? You ‘had an accident’? You don’t have accidents, Dean. Nothing happens now that you don’t want to happen.” He seemed to stress the word ‘now’. Dean knew he wasn’t imagining that.

“You’re right,” he said finally. “It wasn’t an accident.” He reached under the covers and pulled out his left arm. Sam stared at it, at the bandages, his eyes bulging.

“That isn’t what I think it is, is it?”

“I don’t know. What do you think it is?”

Sam glared. “Dean, you aren’t serious. You. You  _ cut _ your  _ wrist _ ? Are you  _ insane _ ?”

“Not insane, Sammy.” Dean tucked his arm back out of sight and gave his little brother a calm look. “I’m just tired. I’m just very, very tired.”

“You don’t get to be tired,” Sam said fiercely. “You are twenty-one years old. You don’t get to be tired this early. You still have me to take care of, and you still have Jo to eventually marry, and you have to still rebuild that car at Bobby’s, and you still have to learn how to bake Ellen’s pie. You don’t  _ get _ to be tired, Dean, because you still have so much to do.”

Dean stretched his lips back in a thin smile. “Sammy, you have no idea the things I’ve been through.”

“I know enough,” said Sam.

“Oh yeah? What exactly do you think you know?”

“That dad blamed you for mom’s death, and he was always hitting you. I saw the bruises, Dean. I heard you all those times you were crying in your room. And I know that you blame yourself for dad’s death, and I know that Azazel hit you—”

“Hit me?” Dean laughed, a little hysterically. “You think he hit me? You think he  _ hit _ me?”

Sam looked confused. “You asked me, in the car the other day, if—”

“Sammy, I was used to being hit. I was used to being beaten. I was okay with it. I was okay with whiskey bottles being thrown at me. I was okay with being unconscious for hours, because I knew that bruises eventually went away. But you know what?” Dean pushed open the edge of his hospital gown, exposing a collection of scars. “These don’t go away. Not for a really, really long time.”

“Are those—are those  _ stab _ wounds?”

Dean smiled slowly. “He made sure it was always on the right side, so I could feel it. He didn’t care that I was in a wheelchair, or that I was crippled. That was a little refreshing, at least.”

“Oh my god, Dean.” 

“They took a really, really long time to heal. Remember all those times I was puking up my guts and telling you that I was sick? Well, I wasn’t.”

Sam’s face was pale, but Dean didn’t want to stop. Not now. “That day that I was late for picking you up from school, Sam? That was because of the cut he gave me on my stomach. I had to wrap it up first and pop enough pills so that I wouldn’t pass out. And if you take enough of that five hour energy shit, you’ll stay awake for days.”

“Dean,” Sam whispered. “Okay. Okay, I get it. Why didn’t you ever report it?”

“Because I’m a sick fuck and eventually I started to like it.” Dean scratched absently at his thigh, wincing a little at the pain that his nails caused. “Plus Azazel isn’t his real name.”

“What? What do you mean? That’s what was written on mom’s will.”

“I looked him up. He doesn’t exist.” 

“What do you mean, you looked him up?”

“I mean I looked him up. In the police database. I called in a favor. And he doesn’t exist.”

Sam stared at him. “That’s impossible. Then how did they find him when they saw the name in mom’s will?”

“I don’t know, Sam. Maybe something else was written and everybody’s just been telling us that his name is Azazel.”

“What if it was something else though? Like A dot Zazel? Adam Zazel? Alexander Zazel? A dot Z dot Azel?”

“Sam, he tried everything. He doesn’t exist.” Dean gave him a small smile. “Now go home. Don’t act weird around him. I need to sleep.”

“Dean,” Sam said hesitantly. He stood and, very tentatively, wrapped his arms around Dean. To his obvious surprise, Dean returned the hug. He pressed his lips to Sam’s shaggy head.

“Get a move on, Samantha,” he whispered. “This is getting too chick-flick for me.”

Sam choked out a laugh and trembled in Dean’s embrace. “Okay, Dean. Okay.” He let him go and stepped back. “I’ll see you later. You hang around, okay?” Hang around as in stay alive. Dean nodded at him tightly. “Okay.” He patted Dean on the shoulder once more before he turned around walked out the door. 

 

There’s something about almost dying in a place that changes it. Suddenly the apartment didn’t seem like it was just an apartment. It seemed like a morgue. Dean tried to avoid going into the bathroom for a long while for fear of getting triggered, but eventually he had to. He couldn’t keep going down the elevator, then into the office to ask if he could use theirs. They had started to grow suspicious, and had asked him what could possibly be wrong with his bathroom, if they could fix it. They couldn’t. Dean eventually had to open that door again.

Initially, nothing happened. It was just a bathroom. Just a counter and a sink and a toilet all next to a shower. He carefully wheeled himself in and shut the door behind him. Nothing was happening. He was fine. He was just going to take a shower. That was it.

Of course, as soon as the smallest amount of steam began to fill the bathroom, he collapsed in his wheelchair and was overtaken by the memory.

_ You have you lie to him. I’m not letting you die…I refuse to lie for you _ .

His face, touching his, his mouth so close. And he could see his blood slowly ebbing away—his life force slowly draining. And Cas was there. He was holding him, and he was so warm, and he was so comforting. And all that fear Dean had had about dying was gone, because suddenly, in Castiel’s arms, he was alright. He was calm. All the fear that had once been contained inside him had just disappeared.

Dean finally found the doorknob and got himself out, inhaling the stuffy air of his apartment with desperate gasps. He leaned forward, resting his elbow on his knee and tried to calm himself down. What would happen if Dean tried again, and Cas stopped him again? What if Cas took him into his arms and held him again and made Dean forget about his fear and his guilt and forget about how much pain he caused all the time?

He couldn’t afford that. He couldn’t afford to have Castiel in his life, changing everything. And yet…well, Castiel had made Dean calm. Dean couldn’t help but want that again. He couldn’t help but yearn for his warm arms around him, his eyes only centimeters from his.

Why the fuck had he agreed to going to conferences? What the hell was he thinking? He was an introvert. He stayed at home and he didn’t go outside for anything. Not even those stupid therapy sessions. But he had let Sam drag him along, and then he had let himself be taken to Sam’s school afterward. He had spoken to Castiel.

How the  _ fuck _ could he have been so stupid? Dean hit his head.

You know what? Fuck triggers. He was going to take his fucking shower and then he was going to go back into his room to do his job, and then he was going to sleep. He was going to sleep until he finally saw who his rescuer was. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you haven't put it together yet, I have no posting schedule. I just wait until people stop paying attention to me and post another chapter so
> 
> cw// alcohol as a coping mechanism, fire, abuse, Dean has another attack sorry
> 
> not a lot happens in this chapter. y'all meet Azazel, Cas saves Dean's ass again (more than his ass), et cetera. so you'll probably get another update soon enough.

Castiel scribbled another grade onto another paper and copied the same percentage into his notebook. This continued on for several minutes—one after another, until he finally noticed the person standing in his doorway. He tilted his head at them.

“Sam. How did the visit with your brother go?” He set the papers aside. The Winchester brothers were quickly becoming his priority, he thought bemusedly.

Sam gave Castiel a hopeless look. “Not well,” he said. “Do you…do you know who found him? I want to…I want to thank them. For saving his ass.”

“If you want to thank somebody,” Castiel said, “Stop by the fire station and ask for Benny. He’s the one who saved your brother’s life. He’s saved Dean many times.”

“Thanks,” said Sam. He didn’t move from his spot.

“Is there anything else you need?”

“Can I sit down?”

Castiel watched Sam for a moment before answering. The teenager was tall and gangly—Castiel wouldn’t be surprised if he got taller and eventually filled out—but somehow, even though he was six feet tall and one of the strongest people Castiel had ever met, he looked so small standing there. He looked so vulnerable and frightened. “Of course, Sam,” Castiel said. Sam slowly moved forward and took one of the seats close to Castiel’s desk. 

“I don’t know what to do,” he finally said, staring down at his hands. “He’s always trying to push people away. He’s…well, he’s had a horrible life. I thought it was bad, but apparently it was worse than I thought.”

“What do you mean?”

Sam shook his head. “I don’t really know if I should tell you. We...we don’t know that much about it, ourselves.”

“Is this about Azazel?” Castiel asked carefully. Sam avoided his eyes. “It is, isn’t it? You said earlier that Azazel abused Dean.”

“It’s worse than I thought,” Sam whispered again. “I don’t get it. Why would he be so horrible to Dean? He’s always been okay with me. I mean, I could never think of him as my dad, but he’s never  _ hurt _ me, you know?”

“What do you mean you couldn’t think of him as your dad?” Castiel was starting to sound like a therapist. He wasn’t a therapist. He was a teacher. He would always be a teacher. Why was he even talking to Sam right now? He was a student. Just another student that happened to have a very attractive brother that Castiel dreamed about every night.

“I’ll never be…close to him, I guess.”

“Were you close to your own father?”

Sam looked troubled. “Not really. We fought a lot. Dean always told me that he was just showing tough love or whatever, but I don’t know. I always felt like I was holding my breath with the guy. And then every time it got, like, bad, Dean would stand up for me.” He took a deep, shaky breath. “I was always so scared. And I asked him every time if we should report it, but he always told me not to. That everything was going to be okay soon.” Sam dropped his head onto his desk. Castiel wondered if he was crying. What was he supposed to do about a crying teenager? “I was always so scared. For me, for Dean. And then the accident happened and for a second I was relieved. Isn’t that horrible? I was relieved that he was dead. And then I got the news about Dean.”

He looked up, then. His eyes were rimmed with red. Castiel wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say.

“I talked to him, on the phone, when he woke up. I was pulled out of school and I went into the office and they were just holding this phone out to me with these…these pitiful faces, like they knew I was just going to start crying in front of them. And then I started talking to Dean, and he told me that they had been in a crash, and that dad had died. And he sounded so…monotone. Like he was completely emotionless. And he told me to stop by the hospital, because what he had to say next was too important to say over the phone. So I left the school, and I caught a ride over to the hospital. And Dean was just sitting there and he still had the phone in his hand and he was just. He was just staring at the ceiling and he wasn't moving. I didn’t know what to do. So I just stood there and I waited until he told me to come closer. And he told me that he had hit his head, and that he wasn’t ever going to be the same again. He told me that he was broken.” Sam looked at Castiel earnestly. “I didn’t believe him at first. Now…”

Castiel finally found his voice when Sam’s drifted off. “Nothing is so broken that it can’t be fixed, Sam. You need to give him some time and you need to keep your faith in him.”

Sam nodded. “I’m never going to give up on him. I know that. But sometimes it’s hard, you know? Sometimes it just seems so helpless. He’s always telling me to leave him alone and to not talk to him and to give up on him and I don’t know how to make him stop.”

Castiel tugged on the sleeves of his trench coat. The hospital had returned it to him—somehow getting out all of the blood—the day Dean woke up. It was all the more significant, now. This coat held back Dean’s blood, had saved Dean from bleeding out. “I don’t think you can stop him, Sam,” he said. “I think Dean needs to realize for himself that he’s got a life worth living.”

Sam was silent for a moment. “Cas?”

“Yes, Sam?”

“You’re…you’re a good friend. I’m sorry I haven’t spoken to you before. Can I. Well, can I hug you?” 

Castiel didn’t really hug people. He didn’t really make  _ contact _ with people, unless he had to. If people touched Castiel, he tended to stare at them until they moved away. It was like that with everybody, except for Dean. Even with Meg he couldn’t help but flinch when she touched him, or kissed him, or even slid those beautiful brown eyes toward him. Would it be the same with Sam? “Of course,” he said. It was healthy to take chances every now and then, wasn’t it? He stood up and held open his arms. Sam walked into them. They stayed like that for a few minutes, Sam shuddering with sobs, Castiel patting his back (“First sign of awkward hugs,” Dean told Sam once, when he was eleven and Sam had just forced himself through a Campbell family gathering, “Is if the pat you on the back. If they pat you on the back, then it’s awkward. If they don’t, they’re cool.”), until the door opened and a blonde girl flew into the room. Castiel gently unwrapped Sam’s arms and nodded at the girl.

“Jess.”

“Hi, Mr. Novak.” She sounded breathless. “Sam, you need to get to the office, like now. Your dad’s waiting for you.”

Sam rubbed his eyes, trying to wipe away the tears, before he turned around to face Jess. “Azazel is?”

“Yeah. He seems pretty pissed. Saying something about you seeing Dean?”

Sam looked at Castiel with wild eyes. “Cas—”

Castiel shoved the papers he had been grading into a bag and slung the strap over his shoulder. “I’ll come with you, Sam.”

His eyes shone with tears again. Castiel wasn’t sure if he could deal with this much emotion in one day. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” He ushered the two teenagers out of the room. “Come on. We don’t want him angrier than he needs to be.”

Azazel was already angry enough, it seemed. He was pacing around the office, his face an angry storm of emotions, and when the three walked in, it calmed just the slightest bit. He looked toward Sam, still glaring.

“So I got a phone call,” he said. His voice was a little nasally and his eyes were glinting. Were they yellow? Castiel wondered if that was even possible. It must be a trick of the light.

Sam shifted on his feet. He was nervous. His hands twisted where they were clasped, and his hair hung in front of his face. But he wasn’t afraid. Why should he be? Azazel had never hurt him. Azazel had never laid a finger on him, from what Castiel had heard, but he had hurt Dean.

“From the hospital,” Azazel said. “They were telling me about a certain Dean Winchester.”

Sam let out a breath. “Yeah?”

“I told them that I had no interest, and you know what they said? That they had had a visitor from my household.” 

Sam swallowed.

“You’ve been visiting Dean, Sam? How often?”

“Sir,” said Castiel, “I think it’s best if we don’t do this now—”

“Stay the fuck out of this,” Azazel snarled. “You aren’t part of this.”

“I am,” Castiel said firmly. “Sam is my student, and my friend. If I feel he is in any danger, I will report it.”

Azazel backtracked for a second. Blinked at Castiel. His eyes narrowed. “Sam is in no danger. I would never hurt him. He is under my protection.”

Castiel looked at Sam, who was still shifting his weight and twisting his hands. “Sam?”

“I’ll be okay,” Sam muttered. He looked at Castiel out of the corner of his eye and offered him a small smile. “He won’t hurt me.”

“You’re coming home, right now,” said Azazel. He pointed out the door. “Get in the car. I’m going to have a word with your teacher here.”

Sam slinked toward the door. How somebody so tall could seem so tiny, Castiel didn’t know. He supposed people like Azazel caused that. He called a goodbye to Sam, and got a lifted hand in response.

“What’s your name?” Azazel asked Castiel.

“My name is Castiel Novak,” he replied, lifting his chin.

“What do you think you know about my son?”

“I know quite a lot about Sam, Azazel. He is my student, after all. I know that you are trying to keep him from Dean, for one.”

Azazel smiled cruelly. “Oh, and you’ve met Dean?”

“I have.”

“Then you know that he’ll only bring Sam down,” Azazel said. “Do you have any children, Castiel?”

“I don’t. Do you?”

Azazel ignored that last part. “Then I wouldn’t expect you to understand. You see, Castiel, when a parent has a child, they will do anything in their power to protect that child from harm. They will fight tooth and nail to protect their child. That’s what I’m doing. Dean will destroy him, like he destroyed everything around him. He is poison. I told Dean this, and I told Sam this. But they seem to think that being related is the most important thing.” Azazel leaned toward Castiel, still smiling. It was a tad creepy, and not much made Castiel feel unsettled. “I’ll do anything to keep Sam from being infected. You remember that. If you endanger him, then I will make sure you never see his face again.” And with that, Azazel turned and walked away.

  
  


Dean woke up and sent a quick text to Sam because he is that fucking skilled he can type with one hand (fuck you, Meg). He sat in his bed for a few minutes, waiting for a response. He frowned.

Dean:  _ Yo Sasquatch _

Dean:  _ Where the fuck are you _

Dean:  _ Wait _

Dean:  _ Azazel? _

He threw the phone down onto his nightstand, grumbling. And just because he’s lucky like that, it bounced and fell on the floor and immediately started ringing. “Fuck,” he muttered, bending over the side. His hand skimmed the floor, found it, and flipped it open so he could hold it to his ear. “Hel—fuck—lo?”

“Dean?” He could practically hear the frown in Castiel’s voice.

“Hey, Cas.” Dean pulled himself back onto the bed and snuggled under the blankets. He was definitely not pretending they were Castiel’s arms. Dean was a straight man, and he was not a cuddler.

“Have you seen Sam? He left the school early yesterday and I haven’t heard from him since.”

“No. He isn’t answering any of my texts.” Dean rubbed his eyes. “Do you think he’s okay?”

“Dean, I need to know if he’s in any danger.”

Dean froze. “What do you mean?”

“Sam told me that Azazel had hurt you. I need to know if you think he’ll hurt Sam, as well.”

Dean was seriously considering hopping to his window and throwing himself out. He couldn’t tell that kid anything. He laughed to ease his tension. It didn’t work. “No, Sam was always Azazel’s trophy child. He wouldn’t hurt him. Not for all the gold in the world.”

“Are you sure?”

Dean was beginning to get angry. “I lived with the guy for two years, Castiel. I think I know what I’m talking about.” He took a deep breath to calm himself. “Did you see him? Azazel?”

“Pleasant man,” Castiel rumbled. “I think I might take him out for dinner sometime.” He was so deadpan that it took a few seconds for Dean to get that he was joking.

“Jesus Christ, Cas. Did you just make a  _ joke _ ?”

“I believe, if it were to be considered a joke, that it would be a quite dry one.”

Dean stared up at the ceiling. “I think I’m dead. Castiel just made a joke.”

Castiel sighed. “Why do you always do this?” 

“Why do I do what?” Dean asked irritably. “I’m not doing anything.”

“You always avoid things that make you nervous,” Castiel said.

“I do not.”

“I’m coming over right now.”

“What? No! I’m—I’m working.”

“No, you’re not. You’re most likely lying in your bed and staring at the ceiling.”

“Dude, how do you  _ know _ that?”

“I’m on my way, Dean. Be sure to answer the door when I knock.”

“Cas—”

Castiel hung up and Dean screamed at his empty room. What the fuck was his problem, anyway? Why was he butting into his business all the time? Into Sam’s? He’d only talked to the guy a few times. That didn’t mean they would automatically become best friends.

Well, yes, Castiel did save Dean’s life. But that didn’t mean anything. What was one pathetic life worth? Not much. Maybe if Castiel got into some shit, Dean could help him out, and he wouldn’t be allowed to complain anymore.

He was probably going to show up sometime soon, which meant that Dean needed to get up. He sighed and pushed his legs off of the side of the bed. The sooner he got Cas out of his hair, the better.

Finally in his wheelchair, he wheeled himself out into the living room and sat for a little while just staring at the front door. Benny had personally come and checked it to make sure nobody could come in in the middle of the night and murder Dean and his children. He had finished it, given him an ‘all, good, brother,’ and proceeded to plop down on the couch and be Dean’s therapist.

He didn’t want a fucking therapist. He wanted to be left alone. Why wouldn’t Cas just leave him alone?

The knock at the door drew him out of his thoughts. He stared at for a second and let Castiel get annoyed and let out an irritated, “Dean!” before he finally wheeled forward and unlocked the door. When he was safely backed up and on his way to the kitchen, he called for Cas to come in.

“I don’t know what you expect from this visit of yours,” he growled, and opened the refrigerator door in search for a beer. Castiel came in, closed the door behind him, and stopped when he saw the bottle in Dean’s hand. 

“I thought you weren’t drinking anymore,” he said.

“My doctor said I shouldn’t.” Dean twisted off the cap and took a swig. “Ha. What does she know? You can’t keep me away from this.”

Castiel watched him carefully. Dean was suddenly very aware of the fact that he was only wearing boxer shorts. “I’m not entirely sure if that’s healthy.”

“Getting hit by a semi-truck isn’t healthy either, but hey, that happened. Might as well live my life.”

“You aren’t living your life. You’re trapping yourself inside a room and carving up your skin and doing a job that you hate and you’re pushing people away.” Wow, way to be blunt. Dean blinked at Castiel.

“Dude. I’m paralyzed. Sorry for not learning how to do all the normal things that normal people do.”

“Your being paralyzed has nothing to do with it! You’ve given up on trying to make your life better. You’ve given up on yourself.  _ That _ is why you’re inside this apartment.” He loomed over Dean, and fuck it if his eyes didn’t look like they were holding back the wrath of God. “There are many, many people who are paralyzed, who are hemiplegic. Are  _ they _ inside their apartments, sulking all the time? What about Meg, Dean? Meg is paralyzed. And you know what? She still goes out to have dinner with her friends. She still goes and does the things that people tell her she can’t do.”

“Well, sorry I can’t live up to your girlfriend, Cas.”

Saying this seemed to hit Castiel weird. He got a funny look on his face, and the whole wrath of God thing kind of faded away. “Dean, give life a chance.”

“I gave life a chance. When I was four. And it fucked me over.”

Castiel sat down on the couch very gingerly, like he was afraid he might break it. “When I…found you. You said that it was your fault that your parents died. You were four when your mother died, right? How could that be your fault?”

Dean stared down at his empty beer bottle. “I couldn’t save her.”

“You were four.” Castiel’s voice was gentle.

“It was my responsibility to take care of my family.”

“That is the parent’s responsibility, not the child’s. Especially not a four-year-old.”

Dean dropped his bottle into a paper bag to recycle later and retrieved his flask. He poured some of the whiskey down his throat. “Yeah, well, my dad was doing a shitty job of it. Then there was the fire and I got Sammy out and I didn’t even think about my mom. She was in that nursery. She was burning.” He could practically feel the alcohol sizzling away at his liver.

“You were four years old, Dean. There was no way you could have gotten a full grown woman out.”

Dean just looked at Castiel. “I could have tried.”

“You put too much on your shoulders, Dean. Have you been like this your entire life? Feeling like you have to take care of Sam?”

“He’s my responsibility,” Dean mumbled.

“He’s your brother, and he’s only a few years younger than you.”

“But I wasn’t gonna let dad beat up on him, too,” Dean said. “I always knew, whenever they were fighting, exactly when dad was gonna break and hit Sammy. That’s when I stepped in. And dad always got to vent out his anger on me.” He shook his head. “I’m not complaining. I would do it again in a heartbeat.”

“I know you would.” Castiel sounded sad. Since when did this guy have emotions? Dean thought the most the guy showed was confusion, maybe anger. Obviously anger. Dean could still hear him yelling at him in the hospital, saying ‘fuck’ because he was so angry—god, that was hot. Not that Dean thought so or anything.

“What about you, Cas?” Dean didn’t want the attention on him. “What’s going on in your life?”

“Currently? Luci might get out of jail, Uriel is still missing, Anna has run away again, and Zachariah has disappeared from his job—which I have had to step in for—to go deal with our family conflicts.” Castiel shrugged, as if this all was no big deal. Dean gaped.

“You’re shitting me.”

“I am not.”

“Your family is fucked up, man. So…Luci is getting out of jail? How’s that happening?”

“I’m not entirely sure. Lucifer caused a lot of problems. He shouldn’t be able to get out. If he hadn’t called me…”

“He called you?” Dean frowned. “I thought you weren’t close to him. Why would he call you?”

“He…wants me to help him with something. Help take over the family business.”

“Do you want to?”

Castiel shook his head. “No, I don’t. I don’t necessarily want my family to stay in the family business, either. They are constantly telling me to quit my job.” He leaned toward Dean, resting his elbows on his knees and squinting just the slightest bit. “I haven’t told Meg this, but I did use to be part of the business.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “Oh, really? So why are you telling me?”

“I do feel we share a more profound bond,” said Castiel, which made Dean feel things he would never talk about. “I did, after all, save your life.”

“You and I have a more profound bond than you and Meg? Ouch. But right. You were in the family biz once upon a time?”

“Yes. For a short time, when I was younger. But…something happened. I decided that being in the business wasn’t right for me, and I left to study to become a teacher.”

“Wait. You said that you were stepping in for Zachariah’s job.”

Castiel tilted his head. “Did you not make the connection? Zachariah Milton is my cousin.”

“No shit.”

“Yes…shit.”

Dean snorted. “No wonder you’re terrified of him.”

“I’m not terrified of him. I have a strong dislike of him, and I am, I suppose, slightly intimidated. He does have power in the family.” He frowned. “You’re distracting me. I’m not here to talk about myself. I’m here to get you out of this apartment.”

“Good luck with that. I’m not leaving.”

Castiel smiled. “Fine. Then I’ll just have to call…what was her name? Lisa…Braedon, I believe. She used to be a nurse, didn’t she? She’ll be glad to come over here and talk to you.”

Dean recoiled. “You wouldn’t.” 

“Didn’t you two elope at one point in your lives?”

“Oh, god, Cas. Do not bring Lisa into this.”

“You know what,” said Castiel, tapping his chin, “I think maybe I could hire her to come over here daily and take care of you. That shouldn’t be too hard to set up.”

“Cas.”

“You better get dressed.” Castiel grinned his gummy smile that was way cuter than it should have been. “I already have her number in my phone.”

Dean grabbed his wheel and moved frantically toward the bathroom. “Don’t call her! Don’t you dare call her!” Castiel’s laughter chased him down the hallway. “I will fucking murder your children!” he screamed over his shoulder, “If you call her! I swear to God!”

“You better hurry up Dean, or I’ll think you’re stalling,” Castiel called back, “My thumb is twitching.”

“Fuck you!” Dean reached inside the shower and twisted it on. He laughed to himself and stood on his one leg as he wiggled out of his boxer shorts and hopped into the tub, gripping the side handlebars that he had installed when he had moved in so he wouldn’t fall over.

Castiel had him distracted.

He forgot to turn his shower onto cold.

The shower began to fill with steam and images began to flash before his eyes. Dean gasped. He tried holding onto the handlebar long enough to sit down on the seat inside the shower, but he lost his balance and fell.

“Dean?” There was a knock at the door, sounding frantic. “Dean, what’s going on?”

Water began to fill his mouth. Dean hacked, trying to get it out, and suddenly it wasn’t just the flashbacks from when he tried to kill himself, but there were also flashbacks of him in the car crash, choking, trying to get air.

“Help,” he wheezed. “Unlocked. Door.”

The door burst open and Castiel swept in, trench coat swirling behind him. “Dean, what’s going—” He stopped when he saw Dean, twitching on the bathroom floor with one hand around his throat. “Dean!”

“Help. Cas.”

Castiel turned off the water and helped Dean turn over so he could get all the water out of his lungs. “Breathe, Dean. Breathe.”

Dean blinked hard, trying to clear all the images. The weakness, the smoke, the blood all over his hands. John screaming at him and then the lights and sudden pain and then darkness. His father’s cold skin. His father’s wet face.

Castiel’s warm arms.

Wait.

Dean’s vision cleared. He was in his bathroom, and he was in Castiel’s embrace again. Castiel’s hand was in his hair. His front was completely soaked, his trench coat dark with water. “Cas?” he whispered.

Castiel smiled gently. “Hey, Dean. I’ve got you.”

“What are you—what are you doing here?”

“I’m here,” he said. He touched Dean’s cheek softly. “I’m here, Dean.”

Dean laughed weakly. “Cas, I’m naked.”

“I am aware. What happened?”

“Apparently steam and choking are also triggers,” Dean told him.

“Also? How many triggers do you have?” Castiel was still stroking his face. It was in all manner of soothing, and Dean didn’t want him to stop.

“Smoke, steam, choking, and a certain two words,” Dean listed off. He shifted, trying to get up, because he definitely did not want to be lying here naked in Cas’ lap.

“Whoa, hey. Calm down.”

“I’m naked, Cas,” Dean said. “ _ Naked _ . I’d like to get not so naked.”

Castiel glared down at Dean, and his hand paused its movement. “Don’t think this is going to get you out of leaving this apartment.”

“I wasn’t planning on it. Will you at least hand me my shorts?”

Castiel grabbed them, very carefully, and (“This never happened,” Dean hissed, and Castiel nodded with big frightened eyes) helped Dean put them on before pulling him up and into his wheelchair.

“Does this mean you aren’t going to take a shower?”

“I’m going to let it cool down for a bit before I try that,” said Dean. “Besides. I showered last night. I just need a shave and I’ll be fine.” He smiled at Castiel as he wheeled himself into his bedroom.

  
  


Everything had been fine at first. Castiel was teasing Dean, and Dean was laughing—well, screaming threats at him, but he was still laughing.

And then Dean had gone into the bathroom, and Castiel was still chuckling, and then he heard this  _ sound _ , and it was so horrible and it made Castiel’s insides clench because he knew that something—somebody—had fallen, and it was probably Dean, and what if he was dead? Could people die from that, slipping in the shower? He raced to the door and pounded on it, called Dean’s name frantically. He heard the response— _ help/unlocked/door _ —and he had twisted the doorknob and saw one of his worst nightmares  _ again _ .

Dean was lying on the shower floor. He hadn’t even gotten far enough into the shower that he could close it, and his skin was pale and he was shaking and choking on shower water. His eyes were glazed over.

Dean wasn’t dying. If he was there for too long, he could die, but he wasn’t necessarily  _ dying _ . That calmed Castiel down a bit, but he could still see that Dean was in pain, that he was suffering, and he wasn’t going to have that. He turned off the water so no more could run into Dean’s throat and flipped him over. Dean coughed out a lungful of water and twitched. His eyes were still glazed over. Dean couldn’t even probably  _ hear _ him, Castiel thought. He pulled him out of the shower and onto the mat in front of the sink and he cradled him in his arms.

“Dean,” he whispered, “Dean, I’m here for you. I need you to come back to me.”

What was going on? What was he supposed to do? Did Dean have epilepsy or something? Why didn’t Sam tell him?

Castiel cursed to himself under his breath, which he did not do often, unless it involved the Winchesters in some way. It wasn’t Sam’s duty to tell Castiel anything. Yes, he felt like he was close to Sam. But that didn’t mean anything if Sam didn’t feel the same way.

God dammit. He would think Sam would mention at  _ least _ this. This was kind of important!

He ran a hand through Dean’s hair, muttering, “Dean, Dean, I’m here. I’m here for you. Come back” over and over.

Suddenly Dean’s body relaxed. His eyes cleared. He stared at Castiel for a moment. “Cas?” His voice was weak.

Castiel smiled at him, relieved. “Hey, Dean. I’ve got you.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was so salty at the fact that nobody was commenting on the new chapter that i completely forgot that i even had this fic until jjeess001 commented so wooops! Thanks for reminding me! 
> 
> Anyway. This chapter is pretty long so there isn't much to tag but it's mostly dialogue and Dean being gay but thinking he's straight (surprise surprise), but you get to meet Charlie! And Crowley! Nice.
> 
> (also there's still quite a ways to go for christmas but i need help thinking of ideas of what dean and cas get each other! so if anybody thinks they've got something, please comment i'm desperate)

Once Dean had cleaned up and dried off, Castiel grabbed the handles of his wheelchair and pushed him out the door with a “Dean, I saved you again, I think you owe me this” and Dean finally relented and let himself be pushed. They walked into the elevator, had a silent ride down, and began walking down the sidewalk. Dean was momentarily confused.

“Uh, Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?”

“Where’s your car?”

They were at least a block away from where they had started, and Dean was starting to get twitchy. He twisted in his seat to look at Castiel, squinting at the sunlight that suddenly caressed his face, a warm contrast to the chilly air. Castiel turned it back so it was facing forward.

“It’s back at the apartments.”

“Then why the hell didn’t we get  _ in  _ it? At this rate, my arm’s going to get tired. This is too much walking, man.”

Castiel laughed. It felt good to laugh. “Dean, you need fresh air. You aren’t going to get fresh air by sitting in a stuffy car.”

“Dude, that’s why windows can roll down.” Dean tried twisting around again, and Castiel corrected him. “You can enjoy the outdoors and be outside without actually being outside, you know?”

“You seem the type of person to enjoy the outdoors,” Castiel said absently.

“Really? I’m an introvert.” 

“That doesn’t change anything. Besides,” he said, “You can speak to people just fine if you tried.”

“But I don’t want to. That’s what an introvert  _ is _ , Cas.” He hummed with what seemed like satisfaction. Was that a good sign? “I only speak to people if I want information.”

“Is that so? And your conversation with Jo? And Ellen? And I’m assuming that Bobby should be included in this list, am I correct?”

Dean huffed. “That’s different.”

“And what about me?”

Dean was quiet for a moment. “You’re different.”

That touched Castiel, and he was filled with an immense feeling of…what was that? Satisfaction? A sense of accomplishment? He wasn’t sure, but it felt good. He was different. To Dean Winchester, the boy who went through hell and back just to keep his little brother safe, who was paralyzed and still trying to please everybody with his smile.  _ He _ had gotten Dean to get out of his apartment, even after his worst memories had been triggered. Cas had.  _ Castiel James Novak _ had. Who knew? He was once just an obedient teenager, following the orders of his parents like a soldier, never wavering, never turning away. Now he felt like he was changing somebody’s life. And not just anybody’s life—Dean Winchester’s life. A life that never changed. A life that was led by the most stubborn person Castiel had ever met.

He was changing it all. Like Dean had changed him, he was returning the favor. 

“Cas?” Dean’s voice was tentative. “You’re quiet back there.”

“Sorry.” Cas shook his head, clearing it. “I was just thinking.” 

“Thinking, huh? Do angels do that often?”

There was a brief moment that Castiel thought it was a pick-up line, and his heart stuttered just a little until he remembered that he had told Dean the origin of his name, and that Dean also knew his email. “Oh my god,” he groaned. “You are not going to start this.” 

“Hey, I hadn’t given you shit about it before. Thought that now might be a good time to start. So tell me, Cas, how many angels are douchebags?” 

Castiel thought about it. Douchebags? He recalled that being like ‘dicks’ or ‘assholes’. That meant that they were mean. Or just…jerks? How many people in his family were jerks? Well. He could name one. “Zachariah, definitely,” he said. “And Uriel.” Maybe two. 

“Huh. Not Luci, then?”

“I would say yes, but I find, after some thought, that Lucifer is not trying to hurt anybody or destroy anybody’s reputation—which he has done in the past—but rather he is just concerned about himself, and his own interests. I believe he just doesn’t care who he harms in the path to get to what he wants, if they’re in the way. He wants to take over my family business. If Michael and Zachariah don’t give it up, I’m afraid they will be hurt in the process.”

“What, can’t they defend themselves?” They slowed to a stop near a park and Castiel lined up Dean next to a bench so he could sit beside him.

“They can, and Michael is sure that he can stop Lucifer from causing any more harm. I feel that Zachariah wants the big fight, though. He keeps trying to provoke Michael and Lucifer into starting something.”

“Where’s Sam and Anna in all of this?”

“Samandriel is really quite innocent. He’s rebellious against my mother, Naomi, but loyal to my father, Chuck. He’ll do anything he says, and refuses to do anything my mother asks because…well, her requests are not always the cleanest. Anna is just simply rebellious. Against everything. The family business, our parents…she ran away several times to prove her point. And she was always trying to get me to run away with her, to live our own lives away from the family drama.”

“Did you? Listen to her?”

Castiel scoffed. “Of course not. Her reasons were childish. But I think that when I did finally stop being my family’s puppet, she was part of my inspiration to continue. She still rubs that in my face.”

Dean looked at him sideways. “Do you talk to your family often?”

“Unfortunately, yes. I get frequent updates. And Balth keeps sending me messages—”

“Whoa, whoa, wait. Who’s Balth? Did I miss something? Second cousin?”

Castiel shook his head and absently picked out a leaf that had flown into Dean’s hair. He threw it onto the ground. “His name is Balthazar. He’s an old acquaintance of the family, and one of my dearest friends.”

Dean snorted. “Right. Dear friends. Who is this guy?”

“His father was a  business partner of my family, and he lives in Manchester.”

Dean looked at him blankly.

“England, Dean. He lives in England. We grew up together, but he moved when he got a job opportunity. He’s quite young to be such a successful doctor--only thirty-one.”

“Good for him,” Dean muttered. Castiel tilted his head at him.

“Is something wrong, Dean?”

“No. Nothing’s wrong. Nothing at all.”

  
  


Dean Winchester was not getting jealous. He was not getting fucking jealous, because Dean Winchester was not a fourteen year old who got jealous. Dean Winchester was a grown man. A grown, straight man. And Castiel could have as many fucking dear friends that he wanted. As many dearest friends. He could emphasize ‘dearest’ as much as he wanted. Because Dean Winchester definitely did not get jealous.

He watched Cas without really listening—hell, he didn’t care if the devil was released from hell (or if Luci was released from jail)—but he kept asking questions because Castiel’s  _ voice _ .

Meg had fangirled over it constantly, had bombarded Dean with texts about how amazing it was. Dean always found this kind of annoying. Not because it wasn’t true, but because Dean already knew about how fucking great it was, and he did not need to have it in his head all the time.

It was just. That voice. Like he was speaking around whiskey and glass at the same time and it was so goddamn sexy that Dean would never get tired of it. Hell, the guy could read the phone book and Dean would listen to every single word.

So, yeah. He kept asking more questions because that would mean Castiel would keep talking and hell, he might even ramble which was super adorable.

Dean didn’t like where this train of thought was going. He was straight, and he had responsibilities to the world. And Castiel—well, he didn’t deserve Castiel. Cas was sexy and adorable and had a voice that could stop trains and he wore the same goddamn thing every single day with the same fucking backwards tie and he had a gummy smile and he was so fucking  _ caring _ all the  _ time  _ and Dean didn’t know why he cared so much about him, about Sam. 

He looked over at Cas, who was still speaking a mile a minute. He was so animated when he talked, and spoke with his hands. Dean loved Castiel’s hands. They were beautiful. Not that Dean thought so. Then he stopped talking, and Dean said something else to get him to start talking again. Castiel’s hands started moving. Dean watched them. They stopped again.

“Dean?”

Dean shook himself out of his stupor. “What?”

“You seem really distant. Are you sure you’re all right?”

“A-okay, good buddy,” he said, giving Cas a thumbs-up. “What’s the plan for today?”

“For now,” Castiel said, “You are going to sit here and think about what an ass you’re being.”

Dean frowned.

“To yourself,” Castiel added. “Just because you think that people will be better off without you doesn’t mean that it’s okay to just leave. That’s also kind of selfish. So you’re going to think about all the good things in life and all the good people that you’ve…hung out…with. For a few minutes.”

“And then?” If the first few minutes were like that, what was the rest of the day going to be? Dean wasn’t sure if he was up to this.

“We are going to go to the amusement park and go on the bumper cars until we’re sick of it.”

Whoa. Dean was not expecting that. He wasn’t expecting the authoritative voice, either. Which was pretty nice, actually. “Castiel, you forget that I’m—”

“Paralyzed? Hemiplegic? No, Dean. I haven’t forgotten. It just so happens, though, that one of the bumper cars has a hand brake. On the right side. And the gas is on the right side, as well.”

“What? How the hell does that work?”

“There seemed to be a mis-order to replace another broken car,” said Cas, “But I’m not complaining. Let’s just say we’re lucky and move on, yeah?” Slowly, Dean nodded. “Okay. I conversed with the man who owns and directs the park’s happenings, and I told him about our situation. He was more than understanding, and he informed me about the car so that you could ride in it, and that he would reserve it for us, along with another normal car.” Castiel’s eyes twinkled. “All afternoon long. Nobody is going to steal it from us, and we won’t have to stand in line.”

“You’re kidding me,” Dean said, awed. How the hell does a guy do that? “How much did you pay, man? ‘Cause I can pay you back.”

“I don’t want your money, Dean. I want you to give yourself a chance. Just because you’re paralyzed doesn’t mean that your life is over. Besides, it was free.”

“No shit.”

“The owner’s son is paralyzed from the waist down. He said that he understands.”

“Oh my god, Cas.” Dean relaxed in his chair and stared across the park, toward the children playing in the playground. They looked so peaceful and happy. Dean could only remember being that happy before his mother died. “I could kiss you right now.” He froze. He was not meaning to say that. But when he finally glanced toward Castiel, the other man was simply watching the sky, like he was looking for something. “Thanks,” he said quietly.

“You are very welcome, Dean,” Castiel answered, just as quiet and reserved. “Are you thinking?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Dean couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from Castiel. Now he was the one with the staring problem, what was up with that? He knew when awkward was awkward.

But Castiel was beautiful. And his eyes were always so full of wonder, like he was seeing the world for the first time and loved it all, even though Dean knew the shit that he had been through. Castiel could have ended up like Dean. He could have been the guy huddled up in his bathroom and dragging razors across his skin. But here he was, with his big fucking eyes just looking around the world like it was the most beautiful thing that he had ever seen in his life. And when he looked at Dean—well, he was sure if he was standing he would just buckle over because all of that in his eyes made Dean’s knees (knee) weak and made his stomach flutter and all this teenage girl shit that he never had to deal with before. 

What was up with him? Castiel wasn’t even trying to make Dean attracted to him. He wasn’t flirting with him, and he wasn’t trying to impress, and he wasn’t doing anything that could possibly make Dean in any way attracted but here he was, and here Dean was, and Dean was hopeless.

He didn’t want to do this. What was sad was the fact that Dean’s only relationship that lasted for longer than a one-night stand and an awkward reunion a few years later (that was Lisa, and holy hell he seriously thought that Ben was his son for a little while) was with Cassie. Cassie, Cas. What was Dean’s problem? Was he  _ trying _ to bring up bad memories? That was the last thing he needed right now.

Dean watched Castiel for another few seconds before he tore his eyes away and looked back at the park. One of the kids running around looked kind of like Ben. Dean would never admit it, but he loved kids. And truth be told, he was great with them. Sam was always right to the point and direct, but Dean knew how to talk to them. It might have been because he practically raised Sam until Azazel came into the picture.

Right. He was supposed to be thinking about other things. About happy things. Like when Dean stole some fireworks and the Impala, respectively, and he and Sam drove for two hours to find the perfect spot to light them up. He and Sam had danced in the sparks for hours until John had called and ruined the moment.

Or like the time when he and Sam had stayed up until past midnight on Christmas Eve, waiting for John to show, and when he never did, Dean stole some presents and Sam gave him the one meant for John and they spent the next Christmas telling each other ghost stories.

Or that time with Cassie, all those nights, and Dean found himself wishing he could spend the rest of his life with her because he felt like they understood each other, even though, two weeks after their first date, Dean told her about his life and she had practically run away.

Maybe he was supposed to be thinking about Mary. Her soft eyes, her gentle hands. Singing  _ Hey, Jude _ in the kitchen while making pancakes. Cutting crusts off of his peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Telling him,  _ Dean, the angels are watching over you _ which was kind of ironic, since Cas was named after an angel and he was kind of looking out for him.

Dean stopped that train of thought and looked for more happy memories.

Like the first time he met Jo and Ellen. Sam and Dean had run away from home one night when John was gone on a job for a while, and they had gone to the first place they heard of in one of John’s phones. The Roadhouse. Within the first few minutes of being inside, Sam was being backed out of the kitchen with Ellen’s gun to his back, and Dean had been overpowered by Jo.

They had been close with them ever since. Dean couldn’t imagine living his life without those two.

Then there was Bobby and his gruff demeanor, but his willing to always look after the boys. He was never afraid to scold John when he got too bad, and John never had the courage to take his whiskey back once Bobby had snatched it out of his hands. Sam and Dean had spent many nights at Bobby’s house, and Dean had spent most of those nights in Bobby’s garage, where he learned everything there was to know about cars while Sam stayed inside and studied for his next test, even though he was a genius and didn’t need to.

He wondered what growing up would have been like without all of them. He probably would have killed himself as soon as he knew Sammy was safe. Before the accident, before John died. That would mean that John would have stayed alive, and maybe he would have shaped up after that.

Maybe. But all of those people and the responsibility of Sam kept him alive. Why wasn’t it now? Was it because of Azazel, and the fact that Azazel provided for Sam now? It shouldn’t be. Dean didn’t trust Azazel as far as he could throw him, and he couldn’t even pick the man up. Didn’t Dean care about Sam anymore?

He disregarded the thought almost as soon as it came. Of course he cared about Sam. The reason why his responsibility to him wasn’t keeping him going anymore was because now, Sam didn’t really need him. Now Sam had to take care of Dean, and that’s not how it was supposed to be, and he felt horrible about it. Dean stuck around because Sam needed him. Now he didn’t.

What the hell was everybody else doing in his life?

“You aren’t thinking positive thoughts,” Castiel rumbled.

“Yeah, fuck you.”

“Dean,” Castiel rebuked sternly. “Positive thoughts.”

“The fuck are you now, a hippie? Get stoned all day?”

Castiel gave him a gummy smile, and Dean instantly shut up.

“Right, right, positive thoughts.” He shook his head. “The longer I think positive thoughts, the worse it gets.”

“Tell me about Jo,” Castiel ordered.

“What? Why?”

“Because I can tell you are very close to her. Are you two in a relationship?”

If Dean had been drinking something, he would have spit it out. But he wasn’t, so he just sputtered some. “God, did Sam put you up to this?”

“No.” Castiel seemed confused. His eyebrows drew together and, lips parted, he tilted his head. It was incredibly adorable. Dean hated him for it.

“Ugh. Fine. Jo and I are just friends. Sammy has this dream that someday—when Jo gets legal and all—we’ll get married and have adorable babies and shit and Ellen will actually be, like, officially family. And Sam could call her mom without getting weird.”

“You have no intention of getting involved with her?”

“No. God, no. That would be so fucking awkward. Jo and I are best friends and nothing is changing that and it is definitely not getting any closer than that.”

Castiel nodded. “How did you meet her?”

Dean recounted the story for him. “That was when I was, like, eleven. So I’ve known her for a few years. Are we ready to go yet?”

Castiel waited a moment before he sighed and stood up. “I suppose we’ve been here for long enough. No more thinking, alright? That was why we were there in the first place. For the rest of the day, just have fun. We’ll have to see if you can still drive.”

Dean was immediately offended. “Excuse me? Of course I can drive. What do you take me for?”

“You haven’t driven since you were sixteen, Dean. I would not be surprised if you had forgotten—”

“Cas, I was the best at driving then, and I’ll be the best at driving now,” Dean said.

“I also invited Sam. I hope you don’t mind. He brought a friend. We’re crossing the street here.” They stopped at the crosswalk and Dean took the opportunity to wiggle his eyebrows at Castiel.

“A friend?”

“A friend,” Castiel confirmed.

“Not Brady, right? Or Dick? Because honestly, Dick is a—”

Castiel gave him a look and Dean forced himself to stop. “Her name is Jess.”

“No shit! Is she hot?”

“I don’t understand why that makes a difference, nor do I understand what your definition of…hot…is.”

Dean laughed at the troubled look on Castiel’s face. “I need to know so I can help Sam out. See, Sammy thinks that books are the most important, so he studies all the time. Even though he doesn’t need to, since he’s a genius.” He said that last part with a hint of pride in his voice. “Anyway. If Sam has a friend named Jess then I definitely need to investigate.”

“There will be no investigating,” Castiel said firmly, “You are going to have fun.”

“Dude, investigating  _ is _ fun. Especially when it involves Sam and getting Sam laid.” Dean grinned and started across the street when the indicator came on. “But I’ll ride your bumper cars or whatever. I promise.”

They walked (and wheeled) in silence for a few minutes, with only Castiel interrupting once to inform Dean of the location of the amusement park. Finally, Castiel asked quietly, “Do you like children? You looked happy when you were watching them.”

“I guess so,” Dean admitted. His arm was starting to get sore, and he wanted to take a break, but he wasn’t going to say anything to Castiel. “I think it’s because of Sammy. I kind of raised him since my dad wasn’t really in the picture.”

He waited for Castiel to comment on this, or maybe ask a clarifying question, but he didn’t. Dean was relieved. “Maybe,” said Cas, “You would like teaching. Or day care.”

“Are you serious? I barely finished school.”

“Yes, but you didn’t ‘barely finish school’ because you were inept, Dean. You could go to college, if you wanted to.”

“I’m not going to college. It’s too expensive, and I’m already saving up so Sam can go.”

“Why is it your responsibility to pay for his college?”

“Because he’s my responsibility,” Dean bites. “But let’s not talk about that. We’re supposed to be happy, right?”

“Right.” Castiel grabbed the handlebars of Dean’s wheelchair with a  _ hush, I can tell you’re getting tired _ and pointed across the street. “There’s the park.”

Dean craned his neck to see. “Oh,” he said, surprised. “I’ve been here before. I took Sam here a few times.”

“I know. Sam told me.”

The amusement park was way too bright and happy, with lights around the entrance and kids running around and a whole collection of rides towering high above them. The first time Dean had taken him was when Dean was nine and Sammy was four and goddamn Sam had been so fucking happy and he had wanted to ride all of the rides and play all of the games and Dean had had to steal so much stuff so he could keep Sammy smiling. That had been a good day. Sam had puked it all up that night, and John had screamed at Dean for weeks, but it had been a good day. One of Dean’s happier memories.

The most recent time was a few weeks after Dean turned sixteen, about a month before the accident. Dean had been grouchier, and Sam less enthusiastic, but they had stayed there all day and Dean had enjoyed himself more than your typical sixteen-year-old would stuck to their twelve-year-old kid brother at an amusement park.

Now he was with his seventeen-year-old kid brother and his seventeen-year-old kid brother’s almost girlfriend and his seventeen-year-old kid brother’s history teacher.

What the fuck was his life.

They reached the entrance and Castiel walked over to the guy selling tickets, said a few words to him, and then the side gate was opened so Dean could get inside. He could practically feel the people in line watching him, judging him.

“Last time I was here,” he said to Castiel, distracting himself, “Sammy and I rode one of those spinning rides until we got sick. Dad was pissed.”

“Did you ride the bumper cars?”

“Of course I did. I think I got kicked out once when I was eleven for being too rough or some shit but they’ve forgotten about it.”

Castiel seemed amused. “You got kicked out?”

“Yeah, banned. They forgot it by the time I went back, though, so it’s cool.”

“I actually didn’t,” came a cool voice. British, and a little gravelly, but completely calm. “I still remember you. Dean Winchester, right?”

Dean swiveled his chair, and Castiel turned with him. “Uh, hi?”

“Hello, boys,” the man said. He was about the same height as Cas, and wore a dark suit. He had a perpetual smirk on his face, like he knew something that Dean didn’t. Dean wasn’t sure if he liked this man. “Fergus Crowley. Please, call me Crowley. And you’re Castiel?”

“I am,” said Cas.

“I remember you. You’re the bloke about the bumper cars, right? I have them ready for you.”

Castiel smiled politely. “We were actually about to go meet Dean’s brother. Can we meet you there in ten minutes?”

“Of course,” Crowley said, “I’ll see you there.”

Castiel and Dean waited for a few minutes, before Castiel finally declared that they needed elephant ears—it was required—and Dean could continue waiting for Sam and his lady friend.

Dean watched Castiel wander over to a vendor before he scanned the crowd again and spotted his brother. Sam was blushing, the weirdo. He came up to Dean and offered this awkward greeting that Dean immediately felt compelled to point out.

“The fuck, Sammy?”

Sam flushed again.

“Wait.” Dean leaned forward. “Where’s your girlfriend?”

“Not his girlfriend,” said a girl, sidling up beside Sam. “I’m sure he would love that, though.” She stuck a hand toward Dean. “Jess.” 

Dean took the hand, unable to stop the smile from spreading on his face. “Dean.”

“Sam won’t stop talking about you,” she informed him in a stage whisper. Sam looked like a fucking lobster behind her. “It’s actually annoying. I know too much about you, now.” 

“That’s not necessarily a bad thing,” said Dean, smirking.

“It is when I know what brand shampoo you buy,” Jess returned with a smirk of her own. Dean grinned.

“Sammy. I like this one.”

“Of course you do,” Sam mumbled, shifting on his feet. “Listen, Jess and I are going to go look at all the rides, okay?”

“He keeps trying to ask me out,” Jess told Dean quietly. “So far he’s shit at it, but hey, he’s trying, right?” She smiled at him. “Nice meeting you.”

“You too.”

Cas returned with the elephant ears as Sam and Jess walked away. He waved at them, and they called, “Hi, Cas!” before disappearing into the crowd. 

“You let Jess call you Cas?” Dean asked him, taking one of the ears.

“Not necessarily,” Castiel replied, smiling a little. “She just started once Sam said it. I don’t really mind.” 

Dean tried ripping off a piece of dough, but his hand slipped and began trembling. “God fucking dammit,” he hissed. Castiel grabbed the ear before it fell onto the ground. He tore off a piece.

“Here, open your mouth.”

Dean glared at him. His hand still shook in his lap. “You are  _ not _ going to feed me.”

“I saved your life. I have privileges.”

Dean groaned. “Are you going to keep bringing that up?”

“Open your mouth,” Cas said firmly. Dean grudgingly obliged, and Cas placed the sugary treat on his tongue.

“This is stupid,” he mumbled, but he chewed.

“I want to go on the bumper cars and you clearly aren’t going to eat anytime soon without help,” Castiel said, and didn’t offer an apology afterward. Dean wasn’t sure how he felt about that. “So I am going to give you your elephant ear and you’re going to eat it. Open up.”

Dean opened. Cas placed. Dean chewed. And then on the third piece, Dean closed his mouth just a second two early, and his lips closed around Castiel’s fingers. Dean hastily pulled back. “Sorry.” Dean Winchester was not blushing. He had just been making fun of Sammy for that.

Castiel gave him a small smile. “There is no need to be sorry, Dean.” He gave him another piece and Dean couldn’t help avoiding Castiel’s eyes as he accepted it. 

“Excuse me.” A thin redheaded girl was standing with a camera around her neck and a notepad dangling in one hand. “I. Um. I have a senior project to do? And I was going to take pictures of couples and I was wondering if maybe I could get a picture of you? If that’s okay.”

Castiel squinted for a moment, then smiled. “Charlie.”

She grinned and bounced on her feet. “Hi, Mr. Novak.”

“I remember you. I subbed a class for you a few years ago.”

“Yeah, my history class. It was so much better with you there, even though you were only like a year older than us.” 

“Dean,” said Castiel, “This is Charlie Bradbury.”

Charlie stuck out a hand. “Pleased to meet you, Dean.” She winked at Castiel. “You lucky, dog, you. He really is dreamy.”

Dean coughed. “What?”

“Charlie,” said Castiel gently, “Dean and I are not a couple.”

“Oh!” She seemed surprised. “What was with the whole adorable feeding each other thing? Because I could fangirl over that for weeks, it was so cute.”

“I have issues,” said Dean. “I’m not allowed to complain.”

“Issues?”

“I’m in a wheelchair.”

“Yeah, so?” Charlie was suddenly very excited. “Oh. My. God. You could pull off awesome cosplays, man. And can you imagine him  _ LARPing _ ?” 

Castiel’s gummy smile was back. “Charlie, I don’t know if Dean is aware—”

“LARPing was my guilty pleasure when I was younger,” Dean interrupted. “I was secretly the nerd in the family. It was really uncomfortable and weird.”

“When you were younger? Why did you stop? If anything, it gets  _ better _ with age.”

Dean’s expression darkened. “Things changed.”

“We should probably get going,” said Cas. “I’ll pack up the elephant ears so we can eat them later. To the bumper cars?”

Dean didn’t answer.

“Dean,” Castiel said, “I am not going to accept this. Remember what we talked about?”

Charlie, still standing beside them, made a squealing sound. Dean and Castiel both looked at her. “What?” she asked innocently. Her hands tightly gripped her camera. Castiel shrugged and knelt in front of Dean, sandwiching Dean’s shaking hand between his own hands.

“Dean, you are at an amusement park,” said Castiel. “Look around you. Nobody is judging you for being in a wheelchair, or being paralyzed. Just because your hand is shaking does not mean that it is the end of the world. You need to remember that. Dean, are you listening? Can you remember that?”

“Yeah, whatever,” Dean mumbled. Why was he even here? Why did he let Castiel drag him here?

Oh, right. Because Cas saved his life. Again. Because Dean was being stupid again. He sighed and clenched his fist, trying to gain back control. Castiel patted him on his shoulder. “To the bumper cars, then?”

“What if my hand spazs out while I’m driving?”

“And what if it doesn’t? You might possibly have fun?” Castiel feigned horror. Dean felt the overwhelming urge to hit him. 

“I hate you,” he growled, seizing his wheel. Castiel fucking  _ pranced _ behind him.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm terrible at updating please don't hesitate to badger me if it's been four weeks of silence
> 
> cw for food but that's like. it? i think?

Castiel could relive those few hours and never get tired of it. The happiness on Dean’s face, the absolute bliss (the screaming “fuck you” at Sam or Cas or anybody who he managed to pass, a giant smile on his face)—Castiel wished that he could have captured it on video so he could watch it over and over again.

They finally headed home around ten, after a drink at Crowley’s office (Sam and Jess promised that they would never tell the administration Castiel let them do something like drink, the horror), and Dean went with Cas while Sam took Jess home.

“If you don’t fucking kiss her goodnight I will come after you and murder you in your sleep because this girl is a keeper,” Dean had told Sam, grabbing onto the collar of his shirt so he could look him in the eye. “Do you understand me?” Sam had attempted to brush it off, but Dean had only brought his face closer to his. The younger boy had tried to look to Castiel for help, but he could only smile and watch. “Do you. Understand me.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Sam shoved him away. “Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

“You’re a good brother,” Castiel told Dean, later, as they were driving home. Dean shrugged and stared out the window. “Really, Dean.”

“I’m kind of tired,” he finally said in response. The man blinked his eyes slowly, long lashes brushing on freckled cheekbones like feathers. Flushed cheekbones.

“Do you have a fever?”

“Cas, I haven’t stayed up this late since I was sixteen.”

“No, you look flushed.” Castiel pulled over and reached toward Dean, who jerked away.

“I’m not a fucking child, Cas.”

“Don’t start this again, Dean.” This time, when Castiel reached up, he touched gentle fingers to Dean’s forehead. It was burning hot. “You’re sick.”

“Cool. Drop me off and leave me alone.”

“I’ll make you soup,” Castiel decided.

“Don’t make me soup.”

“Do you like chicken noodle? Or do you want me to make you something less traditional?”

“Just leave me alone.” Dean pressed his forehead to the window, probably trying to cool himself off. “Jesus Christ, Cas, you aren’t my parent.”

“No, but I am your friend.” Castiel started up the car again, but didn’t make a move to pull out of their parking spot on the side of the road. “Dean, have you thought about going to college?”

“Cas—”

“That’s a no, then. Okay.”

“I just. I have to pay for Sam.” He rubbed his face. “I’d love to. That’d be great. But it would have to be after Sam goes to college, y’know? And then I can start thinking about it.”

Castiel pulled into the parking lot and unlocked the car. Dean yanked open the door. He looked back at Castiel.

“You don’t need to come inside,” he said.

“I want to take care of you.”

“I’ll probably sleep the whole time. No time to feed me soup.”

“Then I’ll watch over you.”

Dean stared at him. “That sentence didn’t sound creepy to you at all, did it?”

Castiel’s brow furrowed. “Not particularly.”

“It’s not happening.”

Dean made an angry sound and moved into his wheelchair. Castiel followed him into the elevator. He stood behind him, rocking back and forth on his feet.

“You’re impossible,” Dean said. “You’re stubborn.”

“As are you,” Castiel replied. “So I suppose we’ll just have to fight it out, won’t we?”

“I may be in a wheelchair. But I’ll win.”

Castiel smiles. “I don’t doubt it.”

“No, seriously. I’m badass. I’ve got this.”

“I’m sure you could take me down very easily, Dean.”

“Now you just sound demeaning.” The elevator door opened and Dean wheeled himself out with Castiel trailing behind him. “Which is not cool. Goddamn it, Cas.”

“I apologize. Here, let me help you with the door.” Castiel grabbed the key from Dean’s shaking hand and put it in the lock. “Dean. Did Sam say anything about Azazel?”

Dean coughed into his hand. “Uh. Shit, no.”

“We should probably talk to him.” Castiel helped Dean move into the living room. He draped a blanket over Dean’s lap, then replaced it when Dean shoved it off. “You’re shivering. Do you want the remote? I’m going to go make some soup.”

“I don’t have any cans left.”

Castiel scoffed. “I don’t use _cans_ , Dean. I know how to cook. Chicken noodle?” He opened the fridge and fished through the contents inside. “Where’s your chicken broth?”

“Do people actually keep chicken broth? I have that bouillon shit. Somewhere in the door.” Dean shifted in his chair, and Castiel popped up.

“Are you uncomfortable?”

“It’s a fucking wheelchair, Cas, what do you think?”

Castiel pulled out the chicken bouillon, then a collection of vegetables that he knew wouldn’t have been there if Sam hadn’t gone shopping for him a week before (he didn’t even know how they were still good), and placed them on the counter. “Let me help you.”

“No.” He didn’t sound very adamant.

Castiel walked over to him, pulled up the blanket, then helped him out of his chair. “Do you want to sit on the couch?”

Dean leaned on him. The weight was actually kind of nice. “Sure,” he said, and Castiel helped him settle down into it before draping the blanket over him again.

“How’s that? Comfortable? Do you want your wheelchair?”

“If you could just fold it up and put it on the end of the couch”—Castiel dutifully did so—“Thanks, Cas.”

“Anytime, Dean.” He returned to the kitchen and began searching for the pasta. Across the room, the TV turned on. Was that Dr. Sexy? Castiel had watched a few videos with Charlie back when she was still his student. He hadn’t exactly enjoyed it, but it was certainly an interesting show. There was a collection of plotlines that Castiel had found quite intriguing.

Castiel peeked toward the screen. And there were the cowboy boots. It was definitely Dr. Sexy. He smiled, amused, and poured some water in a pot.

 

Dean had had a crush on Dr. Sexy since the show first came on, and even he wouldn’t deny that. It was fucking Dr. Sexy. Who didn’t have a crush on him? He was, needless to say, sexy.

And those cowboy boots. Dean wondered what Cas would look like with cowboy boots. He would probably blow Dr. Sexy away, because seriously that trench coat was like ten times better than a doctor’s coat.

Dean wondered when he had changed so much. A year ago nobody could insult Dr. Sexy without Dean wanting to pummel them. And now he was putting somebody before him of his own free will?

Dean turned the volume up and tried to drown out the movement of Cas in the kitchen. But then the guy was standing right behind him and leaning way too close so he could see the TV.

“You seen Dr. Sexy?” he asked. He hoped his voice didn’t sound as shaky as he thought it sounded. “Great show.”

Castiel leaned back, and Dean heard his footsteps move away. “I have seen a few episodes of it. Charlie insisted on a movie date.”

“Really? While you were her teacher?”

“We would have never been a couple, Dean.”

“Why’s that?” Dean snuggled deeper into his blanket. “You think she wasn’t interested or what?”

“No. I know she wasn’t interested.” There was a clatter of pans, and a muffled curse. “Dean, Charlie wasn’t interested in anybody like me.”

“Like you? A nerd? A genius? A dorky angel in a trench coat on a tortilla?”

Castiel laughed. “No, Dean. A man.”

Dean froze. He paused the TV. “Charlie is…?”

“Gay. Yes, Dean. Is that so surprising?”

“Um. Not really.” He turned the TV back on and pulled his blanket up to his chin. “That’s cool, I guess.”

“Speaking of.” Castiel appeared again, behind Dean. He was wearing an apron. And it was adorable. Where the hell did he get it? “Sam. Does he know? About you.”

Dean frowned. “Does he know what about me?”

“About your sexuality.” Castiel returned to the kitchen. Dean choked.

“ _What_?”

“My apologies. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“What—Cas! How the hell did you know?”

“Dean, it’s really quite obvious. Even if I didn’t pay attention, your infatuation with Dr. Sexy alone is a tell.”

“Shit.” Shit. Did he know? About the huge crush that Dean had on Cas? That would be embarrassing. Especially since Cas was clearly happy in his relationship.

Ugh. Dean liked Meg but seriously. Why.

It actually physically hurt.

“Um.” God, he was so fucking awkward. “How’re you and Meg doing?”

Something was bubbling in the kitchen. “We’re…we’re doing fine, thank you.”

“You don’t seem to hang out with her very often.”

“I do occasionally see her. And we talk. On the phone. What time is it?”

“Uh. Eleven-ish.”

“Thank you, Dean. Typically I would be talking to her now, but we both agreed to call tonight off. She had things to do with her mother, and, of course, I had plans to take you to the amusement park.” Cas appeared behind him, a steaming bowl (Jesus _Christ_ that smelled good) cradled in his hands. “I apologize if I am interrupting your show, Dean.”

“Nah. It’s okay. It’s a rerun, anyway. I’ve seen it a hundred times” which was also weird because Dean watched Dr. Sexy religiously and nothing was allowed to interrupt him. “That was fast,” he said, accepting the bowl, then the spoon that followed.

“I’ve gotten quite a lot of practice,” Cas said. He didn’t say anymore, so Dean didn’t ask him to clarify. He went away for another few seconds, then came back with another bowl of soup, which he set down on the coffee table. “Scoot over,” he told Dean, nudging him. He obliged, moving his leg just enough so Cas could squeeze himself onto the cushions, then dropping it and his useless leg onto Castiel’s lap. Cas didn’t object. Cool. He just reached down and grabbed his bowl of soup. “Have you tried it yet?”

“Oh. Right. I was just enjoying the smell.” Dean scooped a spoonful up, tried to ignore the vegetables, and sipped it. “Oh, Jesus _fuck_.”

“Is that a good sign?”

Aw. Look at that. Cas being all insecure and shit about his cooking. Didn’t he just say that he had ‘quite a lot of practice’? “It’s delicious, Cas. Holy shit. This is so _good_. How the hell did you even do that?”

“Gabriel actually taught me the recipe. He’s the cook in the family. I’m more of…well, I’m more of the baker. At family dinners, I was always the one who cooked the desserts, and Gabriel was the one who cooked the dinners. It all worked out.”

“Heh. Family dinners must have been hell.”

“They were not overly pleasant,” admitted Castiel. “Of course, after Luci was put in jail and Uriel went after him, things get…slightly better. Not by much.”

They watched the show in silence for a few minutes.

“Have you heard from Anna?” Dean asked. “You said that she ran away, right?”

“That is correct.” Castiel sipped his soup. “Zachariah found her. She’s safe. Angry, but safe. I’m thinking about letting her move in with me, and see if that prevents further…problems.”

“Christ. How old is she?”

“She’s…ah. She’s fifteen.”

“Christ,” Dean repeated.

“Yes. She’s been rebellious for about seven years now. It’s a bit tedious. She insists I’m the only one who truly understands her.”

“Anybody else a genius like you?”

The phone rang—Castiel’s. He glanced down at it. “Excuse me, Dean. I need to take this.”

“Yeah, no problem.” Dean moved his legs and Castiel rose, holding the phone to his ear.

“Hello?” Cas moved toward the kitchen. “Are you sure? What about Uriel?” Dean strained to hear him as he moved away. He was such a nosy little shit. “How is Michael?” By then, he was too far away for Dean to hear anything but muffled sounds. On the television, Doctor Ellen Piccolo was arguing with a special guest star Dean couldn’t remember the name of and didn’t really care about. After a few minutes of Dean’s staring absently at the screen, Cas returned. He carefully set his phone down, his face stoic. Dean paused Dr. Sexy.

“What’s up, Cas?”

Castiel looked at Dean. His eyes were haunted. “That was Zachariah.”

“Yeah? What’d that douche want?” Dean was a jerk sometimes, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself.

“He’s out,” Cas said. “Lucifer’s out.”

 

Dean returned the stare, his eyes widening. “Are you serious?”

Castiel didn’t know if he wanted to be around Dean right now. He had so much swirling in his head, and this attractive man curled up on the couch with the blanket up to his chin is not helping at all. He presses his fingers to his eyes hard enough to bruise. “He’s coming here, Dean. To visit the family.”

“Well, shit.” His words weren’t serious, but his tone was. He sounded utterly concerned. Which was nice.

“Indeed.” Castiel pressed against his eyes harder. “I’m going to have to go through a series of family dinners. With Luci here and Uriel still missing…it will be, needless to say, complicated.”

“Is everybody going to be there?” That didn’t seem like the most important question, but Dean wasn’t informed much in Castiel’s family matters. He took away his hand. A blurry spot blocked out Dean’s face.

“I would assume so, yes,” he said. “Excepting Uriel, of course. Which may be a good thing; he and Anna and Zachariah never did get along.”

“All of them together?”

It was too much. Castiel needed to sort this all out alone. He didn’t need Dean Winchester. “Yes, Dean. All at once. I…I’m going to put the soup in some proper storage containers, and then I am afraid I am going to have to part ways, Dean. My apologies.”

There was an expression on Dean’s face that Castiel couldn’t read. “It’s cool, Cas.”

“Do you need any assistance before I leave?” Castiel blinked hard to clear the spots. “You are sick, after all, and—”

“Cas,” Dean said quickly. “You can go. It’s fine. I can survive by myself. If I need anything, I’ll just call Sam. You…you should go. Deal with whatever’s going on.”

“Thank you, Dean.”

 

As Castiel drove home, his mind battled between thinking about Dean and thinking about his family.

Because there was Lucifer. Castiel remembered growing up with him as a brother. And he did love him, of course he did. But like with Michael, Zachariah, and Uriel, Castiel’s love for his brothers was troubled by his doubt for them. Castiel had even pleasant memories of Lucifer. Of sitting on his shoulders. Of practicing his academics with Luci holding up cards and congratulating Cas when he got it right. Of baking cookies with him. Of being cradled while he cried after he was bullied at school.

Lucifer had been, most of the time, a good brother. Until his interests blinded him and he began to do things that hurt his family. Castiel had been betrayed. But no matter what, he had held onto those good memories of him. And he held onto the idea that Michael and Lucifer were as close as they used to be now. The two had always been rivals, but they were closer to each other than anybody else.

All of these thoughts swirled around through his brain.

But there was also Dean. Beautiful Dean. Tortured Dean. Stubborn, angry, closed-off Dean. Castiel really felt like he was making a difference. Dean was fully capable of refusing Castiel. If he had actually sounded genuine, Castiel would have left. And the fact that Dean did not continue insisting he leave once they were inside, Castiel felt that he was fully welcome there. He was, he knew, the only person that Dean had welcomed so completely into his life that wasn’t Sam.

Castiel’s phone rang, and he forced himself away from that train of thought so he could answer it.

“Cassie.”

“Gabriel. Have you heard the news?”

Gabriel’s voice was dimmer than normal, and a little flat. “Of course I did. Aren’t you just thrilled? The dinner will be wonderful. What do you plan on cooking for dessert? Because I was thinking about cooking a nice turkey, Thanksgiving style. Maybe some asparagus?”

“How are you holding up?”

“How am I holding up? Really, Cassie? I’m fucking exploding over here.” There was a crash on the other line, like Gabriel had thrown something. It wasn’t really surprising—Gabriel had the tendency to destroy things when he was angry or confused. It had made for very brief dish life while Castiel was growing up. “ _Luci_ is out, Cassie. Do you even know what that means? That means family feuds again! Now it isn’t just Zachariah trying to screw everything up—now it’s Lucifer trying to make a name and Michael trying to stop him and Zachariah is cheering on the fight—Cassie I can’t _handle_ this again. It’s too fucking much and it’s ridiculous and I don’t even feel like myself anymore.” Another object shattered, and Castiel winced. “What do I even do about this? How do I even start?”

Castiel didn’t know what to say. He never knew what to say when people got emotional. “The dinner. It’s Wednesday. Would you like to come to my apartment for a few days, and then we can leave in the morning together?”

Gabriel sighed into the phone. “That sounds good, Cassie.”

“I can make a cake, if you like. Chocolate, chocolate.”

“You really are the best. I’ll be over there in a few, yeah?”

“I’m just about home,” Castiel said. “I’m looking forward to seeing you again.” He hung up and drove the rest of the way back.

 

Castiel would never really consider it home. It was nice enough, and comfortable. But Castiel had no emotional attachment to it and he didn’t think he was ever going to get one. It wasn’t where he grew up. He didn’t spend enough time there, did not make enough memories there, to have it anywhere close to the house where he grew up.

Of course, he would soon be returning to his childhood home. Which he wasn’t exactly looking forward to. He would see Anna again. And Alfie—well, Samandriel. But nobody really called him Samandriel to his face. It was Alfie since he wore the wrong sticker at daycare and it had been Alfie ever since. He was only twelve.

He got to his room and keyed open the door. Gabriel was waiting inside, lounging on the couch, a bottle of beer dangling from his fingers.

“Cassie.” Gabriel sounded tired.

Castiel closed the door and sighed. “Gabriel. I didn’t realize you would get here so soon.”

“Yeah, well, I was already on my way when I called you.”

“But—the crashes—”

“I may or may not have brought some dishes with me?”

“You threw them out your window.”

“Settle down. I threw them where the cars can’t reach.” Gabriel took a long pull of his beer. “Nobody will die or anything. I promise. I know how you are with car crashes.”

“I’m actually looking forward to seeing Luci,” Castiel said thoughtfully. He walked to the fridge and began moving things around, searching for something to eat. He wasn’t really hungry, but he needed something to do. “Is that odd?”

“It’s not…odd.” The word sounded strange coming from Gabriel’s mouth. “I loved him. We all loved him. Except maybe Zach, and Alfie didn’t really know him. He was a good brother. A selfish bastard, but a good brother.”

“I know.” Castiel closed the fridge. “You remember he called me, to see if I would join him? In his big rebellion?”

“Ah, yes. The big company. The rival. He’s constantly hounding me about it. I’m his favorite relative, I should help him, blahblahblah.”

“Have you ever thought about it? Joining a side?”

Gabriel dropped the bottle and it shattered on Castiel’s wooden floor. “Cassie, I’m not going to take a side. I am never going to take a side. They’re my cousins and they’re your brothers and just because we’re family doesn’t mean we should get caught up in their mess.” He glanced down at his feet. “Sorry, Cassie.”

“It’s fine. I’ll clean it up.” Castiel went back into the kitchen. “I also need to get started on the cake. How many layers?”

“Five. Six. Maybe seven. As much as you can make.”

Castiel laughed lightly. “If you like, Gabriel.”

His cousin sat on the stool facing the counter, like he had a few weeks before. He swiveled distractedly. “So. You and Dean?”

Castiel paused. “What about me and Dean?”

“Are you. Together?”

Flour dropped into a metal bowl. Some salt was added. “Gabriel.”

“No, seriously. I know you’ve got this crush on him.”

“You’re drunk.”

“After one beer? I don’t think so, Cassie. What happened?”

“Nothing happened.”

“No, something did happen. I talked to Sam. He had a lot to say.”

Sam didn’t know everything. Did he?

“And he talked to Benny.”

Castiel stopped in the middle of taking out the cocoa powder. His hand hovered in the air, wavering. “Did he?” His voice was steady.

“Benny said that you saved Dean’s life.”

“He didn’t. He didn’t mention it. At the amusement park.”

“Yeah, that would have been awkward.” Gabriel swiveled again on his chair. “How did that go? Didja kiss him? Carry him out like a princess? I feel like Dean would be the princess in this relationship.”

“No relationship,” Castiel said bitterly.

“Ha! I heard that. You’re _angry_.”

“Gabriel. I am currently dating Meg.”

“Oh, come on. Do you even like her?”

“I like Meg.”

“Uh-huh. Right.”

Castiel pointed a spoon at his cousin. “Gabriel, do you want cake or not? Because I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Okay, fine. Whatever.” He shrugged, a bit nonchalantly, and peered into Castiel’s bowl. “Is the cake almost done?”

“I just started, Gabriel.”

“Yeah, but does it taste good?”

Castiel dutifully handed him a spoonful of batter.

“Right,” Gabriel said. “So how are things going with Meg? Have you two. You know. Done the do?”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

“And yet you know exactly what I’m talking about.” Gabriel licked the spoon and made a sound of pleasure. “This is going to taste even better cooked, isn’t it?”

“Again. Not talking about this.”

“Then what _do_ you want to talk about?”

“Dinner. What’s going to happen? What’s the plan?”

“It’s in three days. Two days? I don’t know. What time is it?” Gabriel checked. “Okay, including today, since we’re only like an hour in, two days. The usual place and time. Except now we’ll have Luci.”

Castiel sighed. “I don’t think there is any possible way that this will go well. Not if Zachariah is present.”

“Nothing goes well if Zach is present, Cassie. Especially things involving Lucifer.”

  


“I talked to Benny,” said Sam.

“Good for you. Nice guy.” Dean coughed away from the phone so Sam wouldn’t hear and swallowed another spoonful of soup. Cleared his throat.

“Dean, seriously? You think it might’ve been important to mention that my _teacher_ saved your _life_?”

“Cool it, Sam. No, I didn’t. Does it matter?”

“How did he end up at your house at two in the morning?”

Oh. That. “He butt-dialed me. No big.”

“Dean. Are you…”

The unfinished question hung in the air. Dean could practically taste it. “Am I what, Sammy?” he asked irritably. He hated it when his younger brother assumed he would know immediately what he was going to ask. Well, yes, he did usually know, ninety percent of the time, but it was irritating that he assumed anyway.

“Are you and Cas. You know. A thing.”

“Jesus Christ, Sam.”

“Just wondering!”

“ _No_. God.” Dean wanted to throw up.

“Because. You know. It would be okay.”

“Stop saying ‘you know’.”

“No, like, seriously, Dean. It would be fine. I’ve known for a really long time that you like guys. It’s kind of obvious.”

Dean felt even more nauseous. “Just stop, please.”

“Like. I’m accepting or whatever. It’s cool.”

“Sam!”

“And if you and Cas were a thing—”

“We aren’t, okay!” Dean exploded. “Just stop! Jesus _fucking_ Christ! I didn’t know it was a _fucking_ crime to hang out with a _fucking_ friend! What is so fucking hard for you to understand that?”

“Dean,” said Sam in a small voice.

“You know what, Sam? Just butt out. I’m so fucking done with this. With you.” The words immediately left a sour taste in Dean’s mouth, but it was too late for him to take them back. So he hung up and threw the phone across the room and spent a few minutes just staring at the ceiling.

What was worse was that Dean _wanted_ for them to be a thing. Him and Cas. He wanted to be the one that Cas went home to at night and kissed goodbye in the morning and hugged and tucked in and he wanted that beautiful voice to say those three words and he just _wanted_ Cas. But that was Meg right now. Meg was the one that Cas went to at night, went to sleep with, went to wrap arms around. Meg was the one who got to borrow that trench coat when she was cold and batted her eyes.

Again: Dean liked Meg. He liked that she made Cas happy. It was good for him.

And now Cas was hurting. Dean knew he was hurting. And yet he didn’t do a fucking thing about it. Because he was a coward and he was an idiot and he seriously hated himself for it.

Dean climbed into his wheelchair. He wheeled himself into the bathroom, shut the door, and took out his cigar box.

 

“How do you feel about another trip today? After school is done?”

“Cas, I paid my debt.”

“Both of them?”

“I hate you.”

Dean waited a beat.

“How are you, by the way? I know the whole thing with Lucifer getting out kind of fucked you up that other night—”

“Last night, you mean?” His voice held a trace of amusement.

“Uh, yeah.” Was it really? It seemed like such a long time ago. Then again, Dean had slept none. And he had spent a long time in the bathroom. “So?”

“We’re planning a dinner on Wednesday,” he said. “I’m going to have to drive up there.”

“Up where?”

“Ah. Chicago.”

“Yikes. And get back for Thursday?”

“Dean. School is out on Thursday. Winter break?”

Right. Dean couldn’t even remember Thanksgiving. Was that when he had locked himself into his room? That must’ve been it. Bobby and Ellen were calling constantly that week. Eventually he had just turned his phone on silent and torn the landline from the wall.

“Right,” he said. “Winter break. Huh. So you’ll be staying there?”

“Oh, god, no. Christmas is awful with my family. And then Lucifer will be there the entire time, making jokes about how he’s the one who’s going to bring Jesus Christ down and it’s just a mess.”

“Wait. He jokes about being named Lucifer?” Sounded like a cool guy. Dean would never stop talking about it if he was named Lucifer.

“Yes. It was funny at first and then it got annoying.”

“I would never get tired of that,” Dean chuckled. “Who’re you spending Christmas with, then? Gabriel?”

“Most likely,” he said. “What about you and Sam?”

“Oh. Sam can’t spend Christmas with me. It’s normally we meet up afterwards and exchange presents and drink eggnog that Sam isn’t technically supposed to have.”

“Has it always been this way?”

“For a few years. Since I moved out. Azazel doesn’t like to see me.”

“Do you think he would let Sam go to a Christmas party?”

“Eh, probably. Why?”

“Because you two could spend Christmas with Gabriel and I. We aren’t doing anything big, and would like the company, if you two wouldn’t mind halting your tradition.”

“That would be a shitty tradition. But yeah. That sounds nice.” Dean played with the frayed edge of his blanket. It was lunch time and he was still in bed. Typical. “You could ask Sammy. Tell him I’m cool with it.”

“I’ll do that when I have him.” Castiel makes a sound on the other end of the line, like he’s ruffling papers. “Can I pick you up after school?”

“Cas,” Dean whined.

“Dean, I am going to have to go to a dinner that will have both sides of a family rivalry that I can’t even begin to understand in two days. There will be fighting and bickering and I will have to take Anna and Alfie out to another room so Gabriel can calm everybody down. This? Spending time with you?”

“Preparing yourself?” Dean laughed.

“It’s calming,” said Cas.

“Well, you don’t get to pick the place.”

“I already did.  And I called people and they’re expecting us so next time you get to pick a place. Tomorrow you get to pick a place.”

Dean decided to wait until tomorrow before he complained about having to go outside after two days in a row. “Ugh. Where are we going?”

“The Children’s Hospital. We are volunteering.”

“Are you fucking me?” That didn’t come out as Dean hoped it would. He answered his own question silently with an _I hope so_ and a _please do_.

“I am not. There are some children who expressed their want to meet you after I explained the situation.”

“You keep making this worse. Do you _want_ me to hate you?” That was impossible, but he still asked.

Cas chuckled. “I thought you already did hate me.”

“Yeah, right. I hate you as much as I hate Jo” which was a weird thing to say, but Dean just rolled with it. Excuse the pun.

“I’ll pick you up later,” Cas replied brusquely, and then he hung up the phone.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> None of y'all badgered me I'm disappointed
> 
> Cw for hospitals, terminal illness
> 
> As always comments are welcome and wanted

“So how often exactly do you do this volunteering thing?”

“I…” Castiel’s cheeks got a little red. It was fucking adorable. “I haven’t, actually. Lucifer worked here when he was younger, though, with Michael. I visited sometimes.”

Dean laughed. “It’s really obvious, Cas. You look a little nervous.”

He really did. His face was tight, his posture even tighter, fists clenched at his sides and his eyes darting from side to side, looking at all of the children like they were going to attack him.

“Seriously,” Dean said. “Chill. They aren’t going to kill you.”

“I.” Castiel shifted his weight. “I know.”

“Watch and learn.” Dean wheeled himself toward one of the kids, a little girl with pigtails and a smear of chocolate across one cheek that sat in a teeny tiny pink wheelchair of her own. “Hey, sweetheart. I’m Dean. What’s your name?”

She blinked up, a bit owlishly, at him. “I’m Zeppy.”

“No shit?” He grinned at her. “Your parents Zeppelin fans?”

She rolled her brown eyes. “Huge. It’s rather annoying. I think I’ve heard ‘Stairway to Heaven’ at least four hundred times. Probably more.”

“Good song,” he said.

“Not after so many listens,” Zeppy replied. She nodded toward Castiel, who was still standing a few yards off. “What’s up with the holy tax accountant?”

Dean started laughing. He couldn’t seem to stop himself, and Cas walked over, concerned. Dean choked out a repetition.

“I don’t get it,” Zeppy said. “It wasn’t that funny.”

“No,” Dean gasped out. “It is. It really, really is.”

She frowned. “Do you care to explain how?”

Cas glared at Dean. “My name is…Castiel.”

A laugh bubbled out of her. “You poor motherfucker.”

“Whoa, hey,” Dean said. “How old are you?”

Zeppy just looked at him. “Dean. I am terminally ill. I’m pretty sure that makes it so I can say whatever I want, yeah?”

He smiled. “Yeah.”

“I don’t understand your logic,” Cas said.

“Yo Zeppy,” said Dean. “Where’d you get your chair? It’s pretty freakin’ awesome.”

She brightened. “I know, right? It’s the best one I’ve had so far. The wheels turn really smoothly.” She moved forward and backward, demonstrating. “See? It’s great. What about yours?” She peered at it curiously. “It doesn’t look right. Where are the handles on the left side?”

“I don’t have a regular wheelchair,” he explained. “Since I’m not like most people who need wheelchairs. I’m hemiplegic.”

“Ha. And I’m supposed to know what that means?”

“The left side of my body is paralyzed,” said Dean. He raised his right leg a bit. “This leg still works sometimes. It’s just my left leg and my left arm.”

She appeared fascinated. “Is that really a thing?”

“It’s a thing,” he confirmed.

“How did that happen? Because, like, paraplegic people get paralyzed ‘cause of spine injuries, right?”

“Uh. Yeah, I think so.” Dean hadn’t actually done much research on any of this—just enough so that he could explain his situation to people. Sam was probably an expert now with all the research he had done once Dean had gotten into the accident. It was an obsession. “You get to hemiplegic with head injuries. My head was hit on the right side. So the left side of my body is paralyzed.”

“Does it affect anything else?”

Jesus fucking Christ she was curious. “Uh. Yeah. I can’t remember things sometimes. My therapist says it makes my triggers worse. Uh. And sometimes I get really confused. Like, super fucking confused.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’ll be in my house and suddenly I’ll just forget where I am and then I have to like sit in my chair for a few minutes so I can figure out what just happened. It’s more annoying than anything.”

Dean knew that Castiel hadn’t even known any of this. Well, he thought, I guess today is as good as any to start spilling your secrets to the world.

“How did you hit your head? Wait. Let me guess.” Zeppy leaned forward in her chair and tapped her chin. “You…fell.”

“Nope.”

“You didn’t fall? Then this guy bashed your head in.” She pointed at Cas, who looked alarmed.

“I didn’t—”

“Nobody bashed my head in,” Dean said.

“It was a car crash, then.”

He nodded. “That’s it. Bingo.”

Zeppy squinted at him. “You aren’t very demeaning and annoying.”

“That I am not. I’ve had that too often in my life already.”

“All of the grownups are, to me. And they seem to think that every small child likes lollipops. Lollipops give you cavities,” she informed them matter-of-factly, then looked over at Cas. “What’s your name, again?”

“My name is Castiel,” he said.

“I would say it’s a weird name, but mine’s weird, too. Where’d it come from?”

“Castiel is the angel of Thursday. My family is big on that sort of thing.”

“Like how big?”

“Big enough to name every child deriving from my grandmother after an angel,” Castiel answered. “Dean had a similar reaction.”

“That’s ‘cause it’s crazy,” Dean said. He leaned toward Zeppy. “His mother actually named one of his children Lucifer.” 

“Isn’t that just setting him up to be evil?”

Dean winced, but Castiel’s mouth just twisted up into a smile. “Lucifer isn’t evil. He’s just ignorant. Of what’s right and what’s wrong.”

“Like a baby,” Zeppy said. Castiel shrugged. 

“I suppose so. But he is a bit more knowledgeable than an infant.”

“He talks funny,” said Zeppy to Dean. “Why does he talk like that?”

“He’s an angel,” Dena said. Cas rolled his eyes. “Don’t make that face. You used the saved your life card, so I can use the angel card.”

“He saved your life?” Zeppy’s eyes were wide.

“Yep. Twice. He brings it up every time he wants me to do something.” 

“What happened? Did you have a seizure? Did you trip?”

“I can’t really trip,” Dean said. “I only have one leg.”

“I think she means ‘were you tripping’,” said Castiel wisely.

“No, I wasn’t tripping. And I didn’t have a seizure.”

“So what happened?”

“I, uh. I was being stupid and I got hurt.” Dean didn’t want to tell her about the cutting. “And then the second time, I was triggered. Do you know what that means?”

“I’ve heard of triggers. I don’t actually have any, though. Most people don’t, unless they were put through some kind of traumatic experience. Do you?”

“Yeah, I have a few,” Dean said. “The car crash I got into that made me like this, for one.” 

“Was that really scary?”

 

Castiel held his breath. He waited for Dean to slump in his chair, for his eyes to flutter, for him to start shaking. But he didn’t. He remained perfectly calm, and he smiled at the little girl like she was his friend.

“It was pretty terrifying,” he agreed.

Castiel put a hand on Dean’s shoulder, offering comfort if he needed it, and Dean grinned at him. 

“Can you talk about it? Or do you get triggered?”

The smile faltered, and Castiel’s hand tightened. “Sometimes. To Cas here, yeah. Sometimes.”

“Is Cas your boyfriend?” 

Castiel could feel his face warming, and he hoped it wasn’t noticeable. Dean seemed to be completely unaffected. “Nah,” he said. “Me ‘n Cas, we’re just friends.”

Zeppy raised her eyebrows just the tiniest bit. “Yeah. Sure you are. I’m, uh.” She grabbed her wheels and shot them both a smile. “I’m going to go pop some pills. See you two around?”

“Hey, one sec.” Dean dug around in his pocket and pulled out a crinkled sticky note. Castiel handed him a pen, and Dean scribbled down his number. “Give us a call, if you want.”

She took the note. “Thanks.”

As she wheeled away, Dean leaned toward Castiel. “See? That was easy.”

“You seemed to have a few things in common with her,” Castiel said. “I don’t have anything in common with children.”

“You think I do?”

Castiel gave him a look. “I think you have more in common with children than you think. I believe it was just yesterday that you texted me to inform me that the new Disney movie was available to buy. I didn’t even know there was a new Disney movie.”

Dean looked offended. “Hey. Disney movies are badass.”

“I’m sure, Dean.”

“Now go talk to somebody.”

 

They ended up, a few hours later, in the cafeteria, surrounded by kids. Castiel was holding up a very fragile conversation with a ten-year-old, who kept rolling his eyes, and Dean was, of course, the popular one, having a very pleasant talk with at least seven children at the same time, who all seemed enraptured.

“I’m beginning to think this was a bad idea,” murmured Castiel to Dean, once the children were all called away to lunch. Dean laughed at him, his eyes sparkling like they hadn’t in a long time.

“What are you talking about? This was great, Cas. Thanks.”

Castiel bobbed his head. “Nevertheless…”

Dean grinned at him. “Nevertheless?”

“I know that you wanted to choose the next place, and I still went against your wishes—”

“Hey.” Dean grabbed his hand, and Castiel looked down in surprise. “This was great. Whatever I would’ve chosen couldn’t have been any better.” He squeezed Castiel’s fingers, then let go, and Castiel found himself missing the contact, the warmth. “And you know what? Tomorrow, when I choose, I think we’ll go see something that you like. How’s that?”

Castiel was surprised. “Dean, I wanted to go on these trips” (“Dates” a small voice in his mind hissed) “with you  _ for  _ you, not for me.”

“Cas,” Dean said. He sounded amused, maybe a little bit fond, but that could’ve been Castiel’s imagination. “You’re about to go meet with your fucked-up family and you want to do all of this for me? I think you need some boosting before you dive into hell.”

“As if angels would be in hell,” Castiel scoffed before he could stop himself. Dean laughed, and Castiel cursed. “Dammit, Dean! I would have never said that if you didn’t keep bringing it up!”

“Not my fault,” Dean said, holding his hands up. “Blame your ancestors or whatever.” He started wheeling toward the exit, waving one last goodbye toward the children. Castiel rushed after him.

“Where are you planning on going tomorrow?”

“That’s a surprise, Cas,” Dean said.

 

“Help.”

Gabriel, on the other end of the line, chuckled. “Dean, right? Glad to finally hear from you.”

“I’m only calling you because of Cas.” Dean put the phone on speaker and dropped it onto his legs so he could wheel himself toward his computer. “That dinner that you guys are going to.”

Gabriel emitted a deep, dramatic sigh. “What about it?”

“Cas is really worked up about it. I mean, he’s been taking me places and trying to make me feel better, but.”

“But?”

“I want to cheer  _ him _ up this time. He’s stressed out and I want to help ease that a little.”

Gabriel was quiet for a very long time. “You’re a good guy, Dean.”

“Thanks? I guess.” Dean’s hand drummed on the keys, waiting for instruction. “So I was wondering if you could tell me what Cas enjoys. So I could make him happy.”

“Take him to the ballet. And don’t make fun of it.”

Dean’s fingers stopped. “Wait, what?”

“The ballet.” The other man sounded more patient than he should have been. “Cassie loves the ballet. But he never goes because he thinks people will make fun of it—of  _ him _ —if he does.”

“Oh.”

“That response will have to be good enough, I guess. So yeah. If you want to make him happy, take him to the twirling dancers and buy him a hot drink and for god’s sake do  _ not _ make fun of it. I don’t think he’s forgiven me for that yet.”

“Okay, okay.” Dean started searching through the ballets for the next day. “Right. So what does he like?”

“Choose something with pretty girls and prettier guys.”

“Uh.”

“He’ll like anything, Dean.” Now his tone was amused. “When are you going to admit your feelings for him?”

Dean froze. “What?”

“Don’t try to pretend. You’re going to a fucking  _ ballet _ for him, for god’s sake.” He paused. “And. You know. He did save your life. I wouldn’t blame you for falling in love with your knight in a trench coat—”

Dean groaned. “Not you too.”

“What? Have other people noticed you’re obviously in love with him?”

“Gabriel—”

“I mean, it’s cool with me. Obviously my heart is torn to pieces that you didn’t choose  _ me _ , but—”

“Not  _ that _ .”

Gabriel fell silent. “What then?”

“The saved your life card. Seriously?”

“But you are in love with him. You never denied it.”

Dean waited far too long to answer. His fingers even stopped tapping on the keyboards. Finally, he said, “I’m not” and Gabriel let out an amused puff of air.

“Heh. Right. And I’m not the most attractive person in my family.”

“You aren’t.”

“Right. In your eyes, Cassie is the hottest, right? I never understood people’s attraction to nerds.”

But that wasn’t it. It was something else—Dean felt like Cas knew him, like he knew him for far longer than he actually did. “Just. Don’t say anything to him, okay? I don’t want to mess up what he has with Meg. She’s good for him.”

“You don’t know what’s good for my cousin.” Gabriel’s voice was suddenly harsh. “You had to fucking call me up to see what would make him happy, for god’s sake. He does everything for you, you know that? Everything! For no reason!”

Dean’s breath caught. He struggled to breath, and pawed at his desk for the little plastic inhaler.

“I’m staying at his house right now, and you know what happened when I woke up last night? Do you know what I saw?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “I saw my cousin—my  _ Cassie _ —just standing there in the kitchen, holding his phone, with your number dialed in. He doesn’t even  _ sleep _ , Dean! What—what are you—”

Cas’ rumbling voice took over. “My apologies for that, Dean. I’ll—” He stopped when he heard the wheezing. “Are you alright? Do you need help?”

At last, Dean found his inhaler and took a few puffs. “I’m cool. I’m fine. We’re good.” It sounded like he was reassuring somebody. Maybe it was Cas. Maybe it was himself.

“Are you sure?”

“Seriously, Cas. I’m fine.”

“Okay.” He sounded doubtful. “Uh. Sorry about Gabriel.”

“Don’t apologize for me,” Gabriel’s voice grumbled faintly. “He knows exactly why I’m mad at him.”

“Is that true, Cas?” Dean asked. “You don’t sleep?”

“I sleep.”

“For an hour,” said Gabriel. “He sleeps for an hour.”

“How the hell do you know that?”

“Seriously, Cas?” Dean could practically see Cas blink in that slow, bewildered way of his as he tried to come up with a proper answer. An answer that wouldn’t make him get hounded with more questions.

“Um.”

That was it? That was his answer? Maybe he knew that no matter what he said, Dean would be upset.

“Shit, Cas.” Dean rubbed his face. “That’s even worse than me.”

“My sleep is not hounded by nightmares like yours.”

Well. He did have a point. But still. 

“C’mon, Cas. Why don’t you sleep?”

“I don’t know. Ever since…” He let that sentence trail off, and even though Dean wanted to know, he didn’t pressure for the rest. “Well, I haven’t been able to sleep more for a few years.”

“How are you not constantly passing out?”

Gabriel laughed loudly.

“Cas!” Dean protested.

“Where are you taking me tomorrow?” Cas asked abruptly.

Dean suddenly remembered that he was still in front of his computer, and there were pictures of skinny girls in poofy dresses on his screen. He looked at the different times and chose the one o’clock showing. “Just this place.”

Cas made an irritable sound. “But where?”

“Can’t tell you. Pick me up at like eleven thirty, okay? And then we can have time to eat before we need to be there.”

“Dean—”

“You’ll like it, Cas. I promise. You can pick the place we eat, if you want.”

“I want my phone back,” said Gabriel. “I wasn’t finished yelling at Dean.”

“Bye, Cas,” said Dean.

“Goodbye, Dean.” And he hung up.

 

Lunch was nice. Pleasant. Dean, across from him, had a smile on his face and it almost looked genuine. He even allowed Castiel to cut up his food without too much protesting. Afterward, they packed up the food and climbed into the car. Dean gave him lazy directions (“Turn left in a few streets. Yeah, that one”) until they finally reached a beautiful, ancient-looking building that had a valet in front.

“Here we are,” said Dean. “Give your keys to the dude.”

“The valet?” Castiel fumbled with the keychain and handed it over as he climbed out. Dean took a little more time, but eventually he settled in his chair and started wheeling toward the entrance. “What is this place, Dean?”

Dean grinned over his shoulder at him. “Come on, Cas. It wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you, now would it?”

“We’re already here,” said Castiel, hurrying after him. “Can’t you just tell me?”

Dean, of course, didn’t answer. He led him into an elevator, up a few floors, and then the exited into an enormous room. There was a single chair near a balcony, which Dean settled up to the left of, and Castiel sat next to him. He peered over the edge—there were many, many chairs, all facing a large stage that was covered by a curtain. The ceiling was high above them and intricately carved, scattered with a variety of lights.

“Did you pay for all of this?” Castiel asked. Dean shrugged at him. “Dean. How did you afford this?”

“I saved up,” Dean answered, shrugging his shoulder. “It isn’t a big deal.”

“Is this a theater?”

The smile that Dean gave him was sly and slow. “Of a sort. What time is it?”

“It’s one—” And then the curtains opened. And Castiel saw the dancers. He sucked in his breath and seized Dean’s arm.

“This is a ballet?”

“Christ, Cas. Gabriel said you liked ballets but I didn’t know you liked them this much.”

Castiel didn’t answer. He barely even heard him. He held onto Dean’s arm tightly and watched the stage with wide, wide eyes. He didn’t see the soft, genuine smile that Dean sent his way. He was completely immersed in the dancers.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Holy shit I'm on Chapter 12??? It seems just like yesterday when I was traumatizing everybody with Chapter 6  
> 2\. This isn't beta'd at all idk if any of you noticed that but it's. bad. i'm so sorry  
> 3\. Thank you so much for your continuous support! It makes it a little easier to get up in the morning I'm so so grateful
> 
> cw for food, abuse, car crashes again, alcohol, Cassie has a panic attack oops

“Are you ready for this, Clarence?”

Castiel squeezed Meg’s hand one more time. “I’ll be okay.”

“You sure?”

“I’m actually calm.”

Meg looked surprised. “Really? Aren’t you going to go see Zachariah? That doesn’t really seem like a calming thing. I’m not even related to him and I know he’s a dick. I was just in his class.”

“I’m not calm because of the family. I went to a ballet. With Dean.” 

“Oh.” She smiled. “How did that go?”

“It was very nice. Dean got us special seats.”

“Dean’s a good guy. I would like him more if he wasn’t such an idiot.”

Castiel laughed a little.

“Anyway,” Meg continued. “You should probably get going or you’ll miss your plane.” She pulled him down and pressed a kiss to his mouth. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

“Okay,” said Castiel. Meg kissed him again, and then she let him go.

“Give me a call when you get there so I know your plane didn’t crash or whatever. Love ya.”

“Are we going?” Gabriel asked, walking up. “Come on, Cas. We still need to get through security, and I know you’re going to put up a fight.”

“Bye, Meg.”

“Bye, Clarence.” She gave him a little wave.

“Right,” said Gabriel as they walked away. “So when are you going to break it to her?”

“Excuse me?” Castiel adjusted the grip on his suitcase so he could wheel it behind him easier.

“That you’re also dating Dean?”

“I’m not.”

“You’ve gone on more dates with him than you have with her.”

“They weren’t dates,” Castiel argued, and Gabriel shrugged. 

“Whatever. Let’s go freak out security.”

 

The first few minutes were completely silent. A collection of servants brought out food, and then were nodded away. Lucifer and Michael, at opposite ends of the table, eyed each other warily.

“Shall we say grace?” The words sounded like a question, but everybody knew that it was an order. Castiel looked toward Gabriel (directly to his right), who nodded and grasped his hand.

“We’ll make it through this, Cassie,” Gabriel murmured, somehow aware that the effects of the ballet had already worn off. Naomi’s eyes shot up.

“Do you have something you would like to say, Gabriel?”

Gabriel smiled cheekily at his aunt. “Just saying a pre-prayer, Naomi.”

Her eyes narrowed. “A pre-prayer?”

“Extra thanks. Extra grace.”

Across the table, Lucifer chuckled darkly.

“Do you find this amusing, Lucifer?” Naomi’s tone was sharp.

“Very,” he replied. He lifted his wine glass toward Gabriel. “I missed this. Novak-Milton gatherings were always famous, weren’t they?”

Michael murmured an agreement, smiling a little. Naomi sighed. “Samandriel, would you like more peas?”

Alfie, who hadn’t spoken at all since Lucifer had arrived, looked a little frightened that he had the attention, now. “Um. I—”

“Pass Samandriel the peas, Castiel. And take off that ridiculous trench coat.”

Castiel’s hands, around the pea bowl, grew white.

“Aw, come on,” Gabriel said, jumping to his defense. “Give him a break.”

“Mother is right,” said Zachariah in his nasal voice. “You do not look suitable for such a formal occasion.” He grinned, then, and it looked almost evil. “I think it would be best if you removed your coat.”

Castiel looked toward Gabriel, panicking. “I can’t,” he whispered. “I can’t.”

“Castiel,” Zachariah said, voice full of warning. 

“Zachariah, don’t you think now is a good time to serve us a few drinks?” Lucifer’s interruption was quick and cool, and a wave of relief washed over Castiel. It seemed his older brother did still care. Zachariah, though, only sneered at him.

“I don’t have to listen to you, Lucifer. You left. You were  _ imprisoned _ .” He said the last word with a curl of his lip, just so everybody knew that it thoroughly disgusted him. 

Lucifer smirked. “Like that matters. I’m still older than you, and your superior.”

“You aren’t my superior. You went to  _ jail _ .”

“Zachariah.” Michael sounded dangerous. “It’s time to stop now.” 

And, like the obedient dog that Zachariah was, he stopped. He fell silent and fiddled with his fork.

“Thank you for that, Michael,” Naomi said.

“Yes, thank you, Michael,” Luci echoed, rolling his eyes. Michael gave him a look. 

“Nevertheless,” Naomi continued. “I think, Castiel, that you should remove your coat and fix your tie. It would ultimately be best.” 

“Mother,” Luci and Michael protested at the same time. Gabriel grabbed Castiel’s arm protectively.

Castiel only took the outfit off when it was time to go to bed and he had to wash it while he slept. And then the only time he took off the coat besides at those times was when he had to stop Dean’s—

Castiel gasped and pushed away from the table, practically tripping over himself to get away from his family, tearing away even from Gabriel’s comforting grip. He pushed his way outside and collapsed when he got to the driveway, panting, clawing at the concrete as if what he needed was hidden underground.

“Cassie!” Gabriel ran up to him, knelt down next to him. He put a warm hand on Castiel’s back, between his shoulder blades. “Cassie.” He didn’t know what to say. Castiel didn’t really know what he wanted him to say. 

“Gabriel,” Lucifer said, “I’ll handle this. You can go back inside.”

Gabriel hesitated. “You’ll be okay, Cassie?”

Somehow, through the gasping and the clawing and the overwhelming urge to scream, Castiel managed to nod. Gabriel’s hand lingered for a few seconds more before the warmth disappeared, and Luci sat down cross-legged next to Castiel. He was silent for a few minutes, then he said: “That coat. The suit. The backwards tie. You didn’t always wear that.” It wasn’t really a question, so Castiel didn’t bother trying to answer. “I remember when you wore that the first time. It was at your job interview. You sent me a picture. Something happened that night, didn’t it?”

Castiel forced himself to nod again. His vision was swimming, and he had a pounding headache. He just wanted to sleep. 

“Whatever happened,” he heard Lucifer murmur. “It must have been important.” And then he wrapped his arms around Castiel and pulled him close, just holding him tight, like Castiel was a child again. “Breathe, Cassie. It’ll be okay.”

Castiel breathed. Eventually, he breathed normally.

“Do you want to call somebody? Gabe said you had a girlfriend. Meg. Do you want to call her? Will she help?”

Castiel thought for a moment. The sly curl of her lips, her sugary scent—it wouldn’t help him. But she did help him at the hospital, when Dean had hurt himself. So he nodded. Lucifer pulled out his phone, unlocked it—his password was Ruby, Castiel noticed with a twinge of curiosity—and handed it over. Castiel tapped in Meg’s number with numb fingers.

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Luci said. “If you need me, I’ll be inside, trying to cause a ruckus. Mother never really improved, did she?”

This earned a small smile from Castiel. Lucifer patted him on the back and stood up.

“I love you, Cassie. You know that?” He paused, and Castiel knew he was searching for the words he wanted to say. “I would do anything for you.” He dropped a kiss onto Castiel’s head, and then he was gone.

Castiel held the phone to his ear, and after three rings, Meg picked up. She sounded surprised.

“Clarence! Thought you would be at that family dinner of yours by now.”

“I am. I…I kind of flipped out. We barely started our first course.”

“Yikes. So why are you calling me?”

Castiel blinked. “Luci thought maybe you could calm me down. You—”

“Clarence. I love you. You know that. But I am not the one you should be calling.”

“What—”

“Call Dean.” Meg’s voice was firm. “When you come back home, I want you to drop by, and we can talk then.” 

“But Meg—”

“Call. Dean. I love you, Clarence.” Then she hung up, and Castiel blinked down at the phone. What just happened?

Slowly, he dialed in Dean’s number. It rang once, twice. Castiel’s heart sped up. What if Dean had hurt himself? What if Castiel had ‘shit timing’ again?

Dean picked up. There was a lot of background noise, laughing and singing. Castiel recognized Ellen and Jo and Sam, but he didn’t know whose voice the gruff, low one was, or who the other woman was.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Dean.”

“Cas! What’s up?”

“Hi, Cas!” said Jo in a very loud voice.

“Dean, I—” and then his voice broke.

“Cas?” Dean sounded alarmed. “Get off me, Jo. Move.” The background noise quieted after a moment. “Okay, I’m away from all of that. Tell me what’s going on.”

Concern for Dean overwhelmed Castiel’s thoughts. “Dean, are you in your bathroom?”

“We’re not talking about me, Cas. I’m fine. Tell me what happened. Was it Zachariah? Did Uriel suddenly show up? Did you kick their asses?”

This surprised a laugh out of Castiel. “I thought you would assume Lucifer had done the damage.”

“Nah. You said he wasn’t so bad. Should I be worried, though? Do you need me to kick his ass?”

“No. He actually helped me.”

“Oh. That’s good.”  Said by anybody else, the words would have sounded disinterested, but from Dean it sounded sincere, like he really thought it was good. Like he really cared. “But what happened?”

“I…I had a panic attack. Just Zachariah badgering me and the constant bickering and—” Castiel stopped abruptly. He didn’t want to say anything about his outfit. Dean might ask questions, and lying to him was the last thing that Castiel wanted to do. “It just overwhelmed me.”

“These panic attacks. Do they happen a lot?”

“Not very often. Just when I’m with my family, mostly.” And whenever people wanted Castiel to change his clothes, Castiel added silently.

“Christ, Cas. I know panic attacks. They’re no fun. Lucifer helped you?”

“Yes. He’s a very good brother.”

“This his phone?”

“Yes.”

Dean laughed, a puff of air. “Tell him to expect a call.”

“Um. Alright.”

“Your breathing all calmed down?”

Castiel started at the change in the subject. “Excuse me?”

“Your breathing. It was all panicky when you called.”

“It’s fine now, yes.”

“Okay. Good.” Dean took a deep breath. “So whenever I have panic attacks, I go listen to my music on full blast. When I was younger, I would also take a really long drive in the Impala, but obviously I can’t do that now. And I know you aren’t on music, so here’s your distraction: teach me.”

Castiel managed to say “Excuse me?” again.

“Teach me. All of the Greek and Roman gods. It’s what you enjoy, besides ballets and burgers, and I’m pretty sure you won’t get either where you’re at. So hit me. Teach. Who’s the big kahuna? Juice?”

“Zeus,” Castiel corrected, chuckling even though he was pretty sure Dean got it wrong on purpose. “His name was Zeus. Or Jupiter. Jupiter was his Roman name.” 

 

When Cas was finally done, Dean was beginning to hyperventilate, but he kept it quiet and made sure Cas was okay before he hung up.

Jesus. Sam’s class with Cas must be brutal. Why would anybody want to sit through all of that, and memorize it, no less?

Then again. It was kind of vaguely interesting. Not that Dean would ever admit that out loud.

Dean put his head onto the counter and gulped in a few deep breaths. “You’re good,” he told himself. “You’re fine. There isn’t even any steam.”

It took him a few minutes to calm down, then he wheeled himself back into his living room, where Bobby, Ellen, Jo, Jody, and Sam waited around the coffee table, cards in their hands. 

“Hurry up and get over here,” said Jo. “I need a seat.”

“Sit on the couch, bitch. How are we doing?”

“We’re winning. As usual.” 

“You don’t always win,” Bobby grumbled. He tossed in a few chips to the center of the table. “Check.”

As Jo settled onto Dean’s lap, he looked through their cards and gave her a satisfied nod. “Told you,” she said with a smug grin. Ellen, who was paired up with Sam, made a displeased sound.

“We’re going to lose, aren’t we?”

Dean grinned at her. “Yup.”

“Don’t lose hope,” Sam said bravely.

“It’s mostly your fault anyway, Mom,” Jo said. She offered her beer to Dean, who took a long pull from it.

“His fault,” Ellen said, nodding toward him. “From the very get-go, he encouraged you to gamble.”

Bobby snorted. “He was, what, eight? You didn’t exactly try to stop him.”

“No matter what I did, he always found a way. And Jo was always encouraging him. The only other option was to kick Dean out, and I definitely wasn’t going to do that. Lord knows giving him back to John wasn’t going to help anything.”

“Jody,” said Jo, leaning toward the other, quieter woman. “You never met John. He was a dick.”

Dean shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Jody looked a little worried.

“He can deal with it,” said Sam. “He never liked people talking shit about him. But everybody knows he was douchebag.”

“Isn’t that a little harsh?” Still Jody looked worried.

“The man was a monster,” Bobby said. “I knew him back in the war, and he was an alright guy then. Then he came back. He was never the same. Beat Dean half to death every other night.”

“Wasn’t that bad.”

“It was that bad.” Sam glared at his brother, as if daring him to defend John again. “I would’ve been hit, too, if Dean wasn’t constantly jumping to my defense.”

“Wasn’t my fault you were always arguing with him.”

“Didn’t say it was.”

“How about we stop talking about this and move on,” Ellen suggested. She dropped in a few chips at Sam’s nod and said, “Check.”

The continued the rest of the game without another word about John. Instead Bobby complained about the people always trying to double-cross him at the car shop while Jo empathized with Sam about shitty teachers.

 

The rest of the dinner had gone well. Castiel had finally gotten himself together and, with help from Lucifer, Gabriel, and Michael, got himself through dinner. His three brothers changed the conversation every time somebody brought up his coat.

Afterward, the four left, dragging Alfie along with them, and went to go sit out by the lake.

“So tell me, Alfie,” Luci said. He held a bottle of beer loosely in his fingers and leaned back against the picnic table. Michael sat on top of it, legs crossed, with a drawing pad settled into his lap. He scribbled a few shapes in charcoal as the others talked, not really joining in—Castiel remembered this; Michael was an artist. He was always drawing away on napkins whenever Naomi and Zachariah weren’t looking, a satisfied smile curling his face. Michael was always happy around art.

Alfie was sitting on the ground with Gabriel and Castiel, leaning against his hands with his legs stretched out in front of him. He looked so small with all of the other men around him—Castiel was the youngest after Alfie, and he was still years away. Still, he looked more relaxed than he had at the dinner table. He sipped at his can of soda (“We are  _ not _ going to give him alcohol,” Michael insisted, contrary to Luci and Gabriel’s wishes to expose him to the excitement of life. “Right, Cassie?”) and smiled up at Luci. “Tell you what?” 

Luci raised an eyebrow. “I’ve been told you’re top in your class.”

Alfie blushed. His eyes darted toward Michael, and when his older brother’s eyes lifted and he got a gentle nod, he answered: “Not as great as Castiel, though.”

Castiel tilted his head at the others when they laughed. “Oh, come on,” Gabriel said. “You can’t compare yourself to Cassie.”

“Why not?” Castiel asked.

“He’s so confused.” Michael, who was barely caught up with the conversation, seemed amused. 

“Seriously, Cassie,” Luci said. “You’re a genius. Alfie, don’t go and compare yourself to Cassie. He’s a weird breed.”

“Weird breed,” Castiel repeated. 

“Different breed,” said Gabriel. “Special breed. Like that one awkward sheep in the flock who was blessed with the just-got-fucked-looking wool.”

Luci laughed and Michael slapped in on the side of the head. “Not appropriate in front of Alfie,” he said, but he was grinning. “Come on, guys, he’s twelve.”

“Dean always comments on my hair,” said Castiel absently, reaching up to touch it. Immediately his brothers stopped talking, and they all stared at him. 

“Dean?” Luci said his name slowly, questioningly. Michael was giving in the same curious look. Gabriel looked smug, and immediately Castiel’s stomach clenched. He should never have even mentioned Dean. “And what does…Dean…say about your hair?”

“I believe,” said Castiel, “The exact words were ‘sex hair’ or something of the like.”

“Does Meg ever say anything about your hair?” Again, Luci asking the questions. Michael was still looking at him with his charcoal dangling from his fingertips.

“No. She normally comments on my voice.”

“I know Dean,” Gabriel burst out, seemingly unable to hold back the information any longer. “Anybody want to see a pic?”

Castiel was already shaking his head. “Gabriel, don’t—”

“We would love to,” said Luci. Gabriel grinned and hopped up, a picture already pulled up. It was a good angle to capture Dean’s features, Castiel thought, but it didn’t really capture all of him. It cut out the wheelchair and just showed a smug smile on his face. Luci’s eyebrows rose. “Wow, Cassie. You—” It was at this moment that Luci’s phone rang. Castiel’s heart sank.

He knew exactly who was on the other line.

Luci picked up the phone and held it to his ear, a name already on his lips. “Ruby, honestly, I—” Then he stopped. He listened for a moment. A smile spread across his face. “Dean, is it?”

Alfie leaned closer to Castiel. “Who’s Dean?”

“A friend,” he answered.

“Why are you getting so embarrassed about him?”

Castiel looked over at Alfie. Would the boy really understand the connection he had to Dean? Would he really get it?

“Cassie?” Lucifer covered the phone with one hand. “I like this guy.”

“Of course you do,” Castiel mumbled. He looked over at Alfie. “We’re just really good friends.”

“Oh,” said Alfie wisely. “I have a really good friend, too. His name is Inias.”

Castiel smiled. “Really?”

“Yeah. He’s really nice. He holds my hand sometimes.”

_ Oh _ .

Castiel could practically feel the curses bubbling up into his mind, courtesy of both Dean and Gabriel. “Yeah?” he finally managed. “Do you hold hands a lot?”

“Yeah. Only sometimes our hands get sweaty and we have to stop.” Alfie drew a pattern into the dirt, looking out across the lake with his big eyes. “Do you and Dean hold hands?”

Castiel looked over at his older brothers and cousin. They seemed pretty immersed with talking to Dean, and only sent a few glances over to Castiel. They probably couldn’t hear—Alfie and Castiel’s conversation was very quiet.

“No,” he said finally. “Not really.”

“Do you want to?” His question was so simple, so innocent. Castiel’s answer came before he was ready for it.

“Sometimes.”

“Why don’t you?”

“I’m committed to somebody else right now, Alfie.” Meg. Sweet, sly, sarcastic Meg.

“Inias says that you shouldn’t be with somebody if they don’t make you spark up inside. Who makes you spark up inside?”

Castiel looked at his younger brother. Really looked at him. His eyes were earnest and full of a wonder that Castiel once had, before everything had happened. Before that night he had the interview, when he put the tie on backwards. “When did you get so smart?”

“I guess when I met Inias.”

“Does he make you spark up inside?”

Alfie grinned. “Yeah. Yeah, he does.”

“You know, Inias is an angel name,” Castiel said. “You might want to reconsider this. Dragging him into the family traditions.”

“He says he’s okay with my family. He met Michael and Zachariah once, and they said they liked him.”

“Did they know about the sparks?”

Alfie shrugged. “I haven’t really told them. I only talked to Anna and she never has time to listen. She only said that people might not understand.”

“They might not,” Castiel agreed.

“Understand what?”

“They might not understand what you have with Inias.” 

“He’s my best friend,” Alfie said, voice very serious.

“I’m sure he is. One day, he might become more than that.”

“Are you and Dean more than that?”

Castiel watched his older brothers and cousin. They were just hanging up the phone. “Sometimes I like to think so.”

  
  


The night was quiet after everything. Bobby and Jody headed home, and then Ellen did after she had a half-hour long talk with Jo trying to get her home. Sam set up in the living room, Jo crashed in Dean’s, arm snaking around his waist like it was supposed to be there.

It was quiet, save for Jo’s quiet snoring on Dean’s chest and Sam making weird moose noises from the other room. After two hours of sitting in that silence, Dean fell asleep.

He dreamed.

Firstly, of smoke. Snaking into Dean’s lungs, polluting his breath. Then, of his father. Sitting next to him with blood trickling, dripping, onto the fabric ceiling of the car. Then standing in front of him and screaming and throwing glass, Sam’s books, yelling, bellowing. Dean standing in front of Sam with his arms outstretched so his little brother wouldn’t be hit.

_ “God, Dean, I can handle it myself!” _

_ “You are not joining that  _ fucking  _ club!” _

_ “I can do whatever I want, Dad!” _

_ “Dad, cool it! Let Sam do whatever—I’ll work two jobs. It’ll be fine.” _

Pleading. Holding back the tears for Sam so he couldn’t see Dean’s fear. So Sam couldn’t see that Dean was so fucking terrified that he wanted to sob into somebody’s shoulder. So Sam couldn’t see that Dean just wanted a father that he could hug, and not one that he was afraid of. At night, trying to muffle his sobs with a pillow so nobody could hear him. If Sam heard something, he would clamor into Dean’s room and slide into his bed and hug him and Jesus Fucking Christ Dean would not be able to handle that. Then if John heard him…well, Dean would be in a world of hell. He would be beat half to death—boys didn’t cry. Especially sons of John Winchester. It didn’t happen. Not without some kind of punishment.

And in his dream, John. Finding Dean in his bedroom with a tear streaked pillow and beating the ever-living  _ shit _ out of him. Feeling every single hit, every single bruise. Every single drunken shout in his ear. Sammy, pleading in the doorway. Shouting. Crying.

Gordon in his face. Gordon sneering. Gordon insulting his family, his friends. Dean slamming his fist into his jaw and it feels so fucking  _ good _ because for once he isn’t the one being hit, isn’t the one being hurt, because the only pain he’s got is in his fists. Gordon screaming. Gordon scrambling backward. Dean going after him. Taking out everything on this one college boy who knows so much more about life than Dean himself. Dean hitting hard. Dean being  _ John _ , Dean feeling like  _ John _ with every hit, and it’s this—it is this that finally gets him to stop. It is this that finally gets him to let the cops pull him off. 

Fire. Smoke. Footsteps. A flash of light tan. A voice, unrecognizable. Calling for help.

And then Dean jerked awake. Jo was hovering above him, holding his arm, holding his face. Sam paced behind her, coming up every few seconds with an odd mixture of a bitch-face and extreme concern.

“Dean,” Jo said. Her face was close to his. “Dean, wake up.”

“Shit,” he gasped, pushing upward. He brought his working knee up and rested his forehead against it. “Shit. Shit, Jo. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay.” She rubbed his back in small, soothing circles. Dean felt like he was being suffocated.

He couldn’t even keep it together for one night, could he? He couldn’t get through one fucking night without falling apart? And in front of  _ Jo _ ?

“Sam,” Jo said, “Can you get us some tea or something? Whatever calms Dean, sans alcohol?”

Sam blinked, as if he were bringing himself out of a stupor. “Uh. Yeah. Yeah, sure.” He disappeared, and Jo crawled toward Dean and grabbed his face.

“Dean Winchester.”

He huffed. “Joanna Beth Harvelle.”

“Look at me.”

He slowly looked up, into her earnest brown eyes. “You are strong, Dean Winchester,” she whispered fiercely. “And you can get through this. I know you can.”

He laughed weakly. “Jo.”

“Dean. Listen to me.” She pressed her forehead to his. “I know you. And know that you can get through all of this bullshit. You’ve gotten through so much already, and you’re still here.”

“Barely.”

She was quiet for a moment. “Maybe. Maybe you’re only barely here. But you’re still here. And I’m here. And Sam is here. And we’re here for you, and we love you.”

Dean fucking felt the tears coming. He wanted to hide them away again. Then Jo kissed him. And the tears spilled out. He sobbed onto her shoulder, and she hugged him close to her chest. She pressed her lips to his forehead.

“It’s okay to cry,” she whispered into his hair. “It’s okay to cry.”

Dean clutched her to him and he cried.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright so cw for food, self harm, eating disorders, brief sex ment in the beginning
> 
> I meant to post this on my birthday but i got hella distracted so here I am like three days late ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Thank you all so so much for your continuing support. I know this fic is shit but I want to get it out there because it was the first long fic I started working on. Honestly though if you want better quality writing go read my other stuff because the quality is definitely not here lmao

The morning was almost as quiet. Sam tried to make breakfast for them all, but when Dean woke up and got into his wheelchair, he kicked him out and started shredding potatoes for hash browns. Sam floated into Dean’s room and gently woke Jo up. 

“Did anything happen last night?” he whispered. She blinked up at him blearily.

“By anything do you mean sex?”

He blinked right back at her.

“No. That would be illegal. I kissed him, though.”

Sam smiled big.

“Don’t get your hopes up. It isn’t going to happen.”

“What?” His smile faltered.

“Sam. I know that you have this vision of Dean and me getting married someday. We’re just…we aren’t like that. Dean is my best friend and I would do anything for him but I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t marry him. You know?”

He just stared at her. She punched him on the shoulder.

“C’mon, Sam. Don’t look so heartbroken.”

“Does he know?”

“That I’m not going to marry him? Oh, Sam.” She gave him a pitying look. “Dean’s always known. I asked him out before…everything. He was fifteen. And he said no.” Jo swung her legs off the side of the bed and stretched, arms reaching toward the ceiling. “I’m not heartbroken over it. Is he making breakfast right now?”

“Yeah,” Sam said, stepping to the side so Jo could move past him.

“It’s really sad that your paralyzed brother can cook better than you,” she said wryly, and Sam threw a pillow at her before following her out. Dean was still in the kitchen, alternating between shaking a pan full of potatoes and checking the sausages. He looked over his shoulder as the two entered.

“About time you got up,” he said, and his tone was both teasing and apologetic. Jo dropped a kiss onto the top of his head. 

“Morning,” she said cheerily. She picked out a pinch of the hash browns and tasted it. “Needs salt.”

“Fuck you, too.” He pulled her down and hugged her tightly. “Sorry about last night,” he whispered into her ear. “I’m all kinds of fucked up.”

“I still deal with you,” Jo replied lightly. “Need help with anything?”

“You? Sure. Make sure Sammy stays out.”

“Oh, come on, Dean,” Sam said, giving him a bitch face. 

“What’s the news on Azazel?” Dean gave Jo the spatula he was holding and wheeled himself over to the fridge.

“He thinks I’m at Brady’s. He likes Brady.”

“Right. And you’re sure he isn’t going to call this guy and make sure you’re over there?”

“Eh. I said that we would be leaving early in the morning for a day at the amusement park or something. And then I said that nobody would be home. And that I would be around four. And I wouldn’t have my cell. He won’t call.”

“Good.” Dean returned to the stove with a carton of eggs in his lap. “Speaking of amusement parks. What’s the news on that girl Jess?”

Sam blushed.

“You ask her out? You kiss her?”

“Uh. Well, I tried asking her out. She kind of made it difficult.”

“Good. She should.”

“Dean, come on!” Again with the bitch-face. Dean rolled his eyes and threw one of the eggs at him, which Sam caught with an irritated sigh when it broke in his hands. “Seriously, Dean?”

“So did you kiss her?”

“Uh. No.”

“Come on, Sammy. I’m gonna disown you if you keep this up. We’re Winchesters! We’re supposed to be scarily charming to go on with our scary good looks.”

“Scary good looks?” Jo shot them both an amused look. “Come on. Seriously, Dean? You aren’t that great looking.”

“Hey. I qualified to be a model, thank you very much.” He cracked a few eggs into a bowl—he was exceptionally proud that he could still cook with only one hand—and started scrambling them. “Jo, could you put some salt and pepper into here?” She obliged. “Thanks.”

“Yeah, you’re really helpless around me.”

Dean’s phone rang from the living room as he poured the eggs into the pan, and Jo poked him. “What? I’m cooking.”

“Answer your phone. I can handle scrambled eggs.”

“Yeah? Sam can’t.”

“Sam’s not cooking.” She nudged him again. “Answer it. It’s probably Cas.”

“Yeah,” he said grudgingly. “Yeah, probably.” He wheeled out of the kitchen and found the phone in between some cushions on the couch. “Hey.”

“Hello, Dean.”

God, that voice. It was so familiar. Well, about half a year familiar, but familiar all the same.

“Hey, Cas. Everything okay?”

“Fine, thank you. I came out to Alfie by accident.”

Dean choked. “You  _ what _ ?”

“I came out to Alfie by accident,” Cas repeated. 

What the fuck was going on? “Uh. How did that go?”

“I suppose it could have gone worse. He came out to me, too. He has a ‘special friend’ that holds hands with him. Whose name is Inias.”

“Wow. Did he choose that guy on purpose?”

Cas laughed. “That’s what I was thinking. There are a thousand other guys out there, and he found the one who has an angel name.”

“So. Uh. I didn’t know about you.”

“Oh. I assumed you did.”

“Nah.”

“Well. I’m not straight.”

“Yeah, thanks, I got that now.”

“I’m pan.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Yeah.”

“I kissed Jo.”

There was silence on the other line for a few seconds. “Yeah?”

“Well. She kissed me.”

“And how did that go?” Cas sounded a little strange.

“It went.”

“Are you two…?”

Was that disappointment Dean heard in Cas’ voice, or was that just delusion? “Yeah, no. That won’t happen.”

“Why not?”

“She’s not…” Dean wasn’t really sure what he wanted to say. “We’re like brother and sister.”

“But she kissed you.”

“Yeah, well.”

“I’m confused.”

“I kinda flipped out last night and she was trying to comfort me.”

“Okay.”

“You okay? You sound a little funny.”

“I was just…thinking.”

Dean leaned forward to see into the kitchen, where Jo and Sam were engrossed in a conversation that was definitely not stopping anytime soon. He wheeled toward his room. “’bout what?”

“Before I called you last night, Luci advised me to call Meg.”

Dean’s chest tightened. “So…?”

“She refused to speak to me. She told me to hang up and then she told me to call you. She said that she shouldn’t’ve been the one that I called. It was…Well, it was strange, to say the least.”

“That’s kinda weird, yeah.”

“She said that we were going to talk when I got back.”

“Oh. Shit.”

“What do you mean?”

“Uh.” Dean forced himself to keep his voice calm. “It’s kind of the universal language of breaking up. ‘We need to talk’ or ‘talk to you when you get home’ or something like that.”

“Breaking up?” The words, like anything else Cas said that wasn’t completely proper, sounded strange. “What do you mean?”

“Like, she doesn’t want to date you anymore.”

“Oh.”

Dean felt horrible thinking it, but it didn’t really sound like Cas was that disappointed in this turn of events. “Yeah, sorry.”

“Thank you for your sympathy.” Cas sighed. “How did talking with my relatives go?”

“Heh. It was interesting.” Lucifer had been kind of creepy, and Michael even more so, and of course, Gabriel had been his normal self. “Never get tired of hearing from your cousin.”

“He always entertains, doesn’t he? I seldom understand his jokes, though. It makes for very confusing reunions.”

“For you, probably.” Dean smiled down at the phone. “So everything went okay after the dinner?”

“For the most part, yes.”

“Did you see Anna?”

“No. Apparently she went to a boarding school somewhere in India. I’m not entirely sure why, but I believe that they are trying to improve her behavior or something of the like.”

“You still gonna try to get her to live with you?”

“As soon as I get a hold of her, I will ask. How are things over there with you?”

“Alright. Meltdown here and a panic attack there—nothing I can’t handle.”

“You’ll be okay?”

“I’ll be fine, Cas. I’m not completely dependent on you. Yet. What about you?”

“Am I completely dependent on you?” Cas sounded confused. Dean laughed.

“No. I meant—are you going to be okay?”

“Probably. Luci has been keeping me pretty calm, and Michael and Gabriel always defend me. Alfie is calming, as well. His innocence is…refreshing, I suppose is the right word. It reminds me about how things used to be.”

“Before what?”

Castiel didn’t say anything, and Dean knew that he fucked up.

“Sorry, Cas. You don’t need to answer that.” He took a deep breath. “So, right. Is Zachariah still being on a dick?”

“He certainly isn’t being agreeable,” Cas answered. He sounded a little panicky. “Neither is Naomi.”

“Your mom, right?”

“Yes.”

“You ever think about totally dropping everything?”

“Dropping everything? Like my family?” Thankfully, Cas didn’t sound offended.

“Well, not dropping,” Dean said grudgingly. “More like. I don’t know. Telling them to shove off. Standing up for yourself and threatening to leave forever if they don’t respect your wishes. Y’know?”

“I understand what you’re trying to say.” Cas paused. “I don’t think I would be able to do that. I don’t really think I’m brave enough for that.”

“Cas, you’re the bravest person I know.”

“Still I doubt I would be able to do something like that. Maybe someday. Not today.”

“Whatever you’re comfortable with, Cas.”

“Thank you for your understanding, Dean.”

Jo knocked on Dean’s door. “Hey, handsome. Breakfast is ready.”

“Thanks, Jo.” Dean picked up the phone. “Hey, Cas?”

“You need to go, don’t you?”

“Yeah, sorry.”

“It’s fine, Dean. Can I call you later?”

“Of course. Talk to you later, I guess.”

“Goodbye, Dean.”

“Bye, Cas.”

Dean clicked the phone off and tucked it into his pocket.

Halfway through breakfast, it rang again.

  
  


The bed that Castiel was lying in was extremely comfortable and expensive, like everything else in Naomi’s house. It had way too many pillows and way too many blankets, most of which Castiel shoved onto the floor before burrowing deep into the fluffy comforter. Luci came in a few times to check on him, and Gabriel came in with breakfast, but other than that, nobody really bothered him. He was left alone. It seemed even Naomi and Zachariah could tell that Castiel didn’t want to be bothered.

He called Dean at nine, and they hung up about fifteen minutes later. Now it was eleven, and Castiel was still lying in bed and staring at his phone.

Luci knocked on the door.

“Come in,” Castiel called weakly. Lucifer pushed in and came up to the side of the bed. He stuck his hands in his pockets.

“How are you doing, Cassie?”

“Okay.”

Luci sighed. “I’m sorry about all of this shit we’ve been putting you through.”

Castiel looked at him curiously out of the corner of his eye. His comforter was still pulled up to his nose.

“This…feud. I’m just dragging everybody through it, aren’t I? I’m kind of selfish.”

“A little,” Castiel admitted.

“So. I’m sorry.” Luci reached out, as if meaning to touch Castiel, but then he drew back hastily. “I spoke with Michael, and we’ve both agreed to stop our dispute. He has decided that he doesn’t agree with how Naomi is running the company and, of course, he hates Zachariah. We’re going to start up our own company and see if we can drown them out.”

Castiel sat up. “Really?” Luci grinned at him.

“Yep. We decided we like each other too much to fight all the time, and we both hate Naomi and Zachariah, so.”

“That’s…amazing.” 

“Yeah. ‘Course, it wasn’t all our idea. Gabriel got this idea that he should call Dean.” Luci smiled a little. “He seemed pretty pissed since you were stressing out and all. And he asked us if we realized that we were one of the biggest problems.” He shrugged. “He’s a good guy, Cassie.”

“Yes,” Castiel said quietly. “Yes, he is.” 

“He’s kind of shaping all of our lives, isn’t he? You seem better.”

Castiel nodded and fiddled with the blanket. “So…he gave you the idea?”

“To totally rebel? Well, yeah. I think his words were something along the lines of, ‘You fuckers just sit by and watch your little rebellious brother suffer when you can actually do something about it and learn something from him you shits’.”

A smile curled Castiel’s face. “That does sound like something he would say.”

Luci returned the smile and sat down at the end of the bed, wrapping an arm around Castiel’s shoulders. “You inspired us, Cassie. We’re going to set this right, okay?”

“Okay.” Castiel put his head on his brother’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

“We love you, you know that?”

That’s one of the things that Castiel liked best about his brother—he was never afraid of showing his affection. “I know,” he said. “I love you, too.”

 

Castiel finally got out of bed at around two; there was a lot of coaxing involved from Lucifer and Gabriel, and then Michael came in once to tell Castiel that Zachariah was gone for some business thing—but Castiel got up, and he padded into the kitchen in his pajamas and trench coat.

“Merry Christmas, Cassie,” Gabriel greeted. He put something in the oven and closed the door before grinning at his cousin.

“Not Christmas yet,” Castiel grumbled, sliding into one of the barstools at the counter. “Still have a week.”

“Speaking of which.” Luci appeared in the kitchen doorway. “I was thinking maybe you all could come to Michael’s house and we’ll have a nice big family gathering, sans unwanted family members. I could convince a few people to let Anna fly over.”

“By convince,” Michael said dryly, joining them with a laptop balanced on one forearm, “Do you mean threaten? I feel that is the more accurate word.” 

Luci shrugged. “Doesn’t matter what word I use. As long as we make sure Anna gets home.”

“Um,” said Castiel.

“Yes?” Luci and Michael turned to him at the same time, speaking the word in perfect unison.

“I kind of promised Dean and Sam that Gabriel and I would join them for Christmas. They don’t traditionally have a nice Christmas, and we haven’t really ever had a very nice Christmas, not since we were kids…” He let his voice trail off, and guilt seeped into his chest. “I’m sorry, I can—”

“Don’t you dare say that you can cancel,” Luci said dangerously. “I swear to god, Cassie. You have a good thing going there. We can drop by sometime, exchange presents. You spend time with your friend.”

Castiel smiled gratefully. “Thank you.”

“Hey,” said Michael. “That’s what we’re here for. Making you happy.” He slung an arm around Luci, who shoved him away.

“Just because we’re in league doesn’t mean I’m going to just cuddle,” he said, and there was a slight sneer in his words, but it was almost completely consumed by the teasing tone. “We’ll have a nice dinner, and then we’ll send you two home before Naomi and Zachariah realize you’re gone, how’s that?”

“Sounds fantastic,” said Gabriel.

“Zachariah is on his way home,” Michael murmured, clicking something on his laptop. Luci went over to look over his shoulder.

“Hope he got eggs,” Gabriel remarked dryly.

“How do you know where Zachariah is?” Castiel asked. Lucifer chuckled.

“Our dear cousin keeps his status updated,” he answered, and then because Castiel didn’t get it: “Facebook, Cassie. He literally tells everybody in the world where he is and when.”

“Makes it easier to hire an assassin,” said Michael, and everybody but Castiel (still trying to process the whole Facebook thing) snickered. 

“Do you think,” Castiel said carefully, “That Zachariah will go back to his job soon?” 

All inhabitants of the kitchen immediately grew somber. “Why’s that, Cassie?” Luci asked.

“Well. Technically I have his job right now. If he came back I would be essentially jobless.”

“You could work for our company,” said Michael, “New and improved” and Lucifer hit him. 

“Stop it” and then to Castiel, “Even if he did go back to his job, you won’t be jobless. I promise. You are one badass teacher, and there is going to be nothing stopping a whole hoard of teachers from requesting you once you’re free.”

“You know,” Gabriel said, “Without Naomi or Zachariah here, you’re actually an okay guy, Lucifer.”

“Fuck you,” Luci said, grinning. “I might just send your ass to hell.”

“I’m terrified.” Gabriel unwrapped a lolli and stuck it into his mouth. “Absolutely terrified. Cassie, wanna shred some cheese?”

“Sure.” Castiel accepted the block and the shredder and began dragging the cheese down the blades slowly, letting all of the little strings fall onto a cutting board resting on the counter. It was a little soothing. Therapeutic. He liked it.

“So tell me about Meg.” Luci sat down in the bar stool next to Castiel and grabbed the lettuce that Gabriel was handing him (“The fuck am I supposed to do with this?”). Gabriel passed him a knife.

“What about her?” Castiel dragged the cheese down the shredder again.

“She’s your girlfriend, right?”

“I suppose, yes, at the moment.”

Luci raised his eyebrows. “Okay, is she cute?”

“She is attractive.”

“You’re being impossible.”

Castiel allowed his lips to curl into a smile. Luci gaped at him.

“You’re doing this on purpose! I fucking swear to god, Castiel.”

“She’s one year younger than me. She was born with a disorder that makes it so she can’t walk, so she’s in a wheelchair. Her mother is named Madge Carrigan, but her name Meg Masters, because that was her father’s name. She’s sarcastic and flirts too much and she calls me Clarence which I don’t understand but she’s never really called me anything else. She has dark brown hair and brown eyes and she’s always smirking like she knows something.” Castiel lifted his eyes from the cheese, meeting Luci’s with a small smile. “Is that enough?”

“How’s the sex?” Gabriel asked. “You missed that.”

“We don’t need to know that,” Michael said quickly.

“She sounds like a nice girl,” Luci said. He brought the knife down into the lettuce and gave it a few rough chops. “Yo. Gabriel. What is this for, anyway?”

“Enchiladas,” Gabriel answered, then chastised Luci for cutting the lettuce wrong. Michael, still on his laptop, rolled his eyes.

“Luci,” he said a bit thoughtfully without looking up, “Whatever happened to Uriel?”

Luci shrugged. “How am I supposed to know? I haven’t seen him since I was arrested.”

“We were told,” Castiel said, “That he went down to get you out.”

“Well, I haven’t seen him. I got out all by my lonesome. Legally,” he added a bit hurriedly.

“Was it Ruby?” Castiel asked. Luci just looked at him. “My apologies. You don’t have to answer that.”

It seemed, at first, that Luci wouldn’t answer. He chopped his lettuce into finer pieces and then stared down at the counter for a few seconds, and then he said: “Ruby is my wife.”

Michael coughed. “ _ What _ ?”

“Ruby and I got married as soon as I got out of jail. We had known each other for a while, and she kept in contact when I was arrested, and then still when I was transferred.”

“Why weren’t we invited to the wedding?” Gabriel sounded offended. “Seriously, Luci.”

“We more…eloped.” Luci looked a little embarrassed. “We were considering having a wedding, later on, once we were settled.”

Castiel passed the shredded cheese to Gabriel. “Where is she now?”

“Texas,” Luci said. “She decided to stay there. The idea of meeting my family was…stressful to her.”

“Stressful to anybody,” Gabriel muttered, and gave Michael a cheeky grin when he scowled.

“I’m, uh.” Castiel got up and brushed himself off. “I’m going to go call Dean, okay?”

His brothers and cousin exchanged looks. Luci gave him an encouraging smile. “Sure, Cassie. We’ll be in here if you need us.”

Castiel left to find his phone.

  
  


Cas and Gabriel’s plane landed early in the morning, and Dean, Sam, Meg, and Jo met them in the airport. Jo made sure to give Gabriel her best scowl, but she hugged them both.

“How was the flight?” Dean asked. He cast his eyes toward the doorway from which Cas and Gabriel had emerged and tried to conceal his shudder. Cas chuckled and put his hand on Dean’s shoulder.

“Are you okay? You look nervous.”

“The flight was fine,” Gabriel said. He ripped open a pack of gummi bears and began scooping them, by the handful, into his mouth. “Kinda rocky a bit toward the end,” he continued, around the mouthful of candy, “But what can ya do? It’s a plane?”

“Fucking planes,” Dean muttered. 

“Dean’s terrified of planes,” Sam informed the others.

“Not terrified. It’s a reasonable dislike. Their fucking death traps.”

“Oh, come on,” Meg said. “They aren’t that bad. I mean, there’s only a one in a million chance you’ll die in a plane crash, right? And only like a gazillion people ride planes every day, so.”

“Shut up.” But Dean gave her a tight smile because it was the exact same thing he would do to another person in a different situation. It was kind of funny. Kind of.

“Hey, Clarence.” Meg pulled Castiel down for a hug and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. How cute. Dean’s stomach lurched even harder than it had when he thought about planes. He forced himself to look away. Jo squeezed his hand. “How’ve you been holding up?”

“Fine, thank you.” Dean knew that he was looking again, involuntarily, because he was suddenly watching Cas’ brow furrow like it did when he was confused about something. “What was it that you wanted—”

“I’ll tell you at home, Clarence.”

He gave her a worried smile. Dean wanted to kiss the worry off his face.

Wait. No he didn’t. They were just friends.

Dean felt the urge to laugh.

“Should we get going?” Jo accepted Cas’ suitcase, but ignored Gabriel when he offered her his. “I am, after all, the designated driver.”

“I can drive,” Sam huffed. Jo patted his head.

“Sure you can, sweetie.”

He ducked away.

“Dean-o, care to help a poor man with his luggage?” Gabriel held up his bag and gave Dean a big shit-eating grin.

“A poor man?” Dean smirked and grabbed the bag, dropping it into his lap before continuing to move. “When you get rich again, let me know. I’m making you pay for me being your baggage man.” 

Gabriel bounced into pace with Dean. Ahead of them, Meg wheeled herself with Cas and Jo walking next to her. “It isn’t like it’s a total hardship. You have wheels.”

Dean scowled at him. “And one arm.”

“You weigh, like, ninety pounds. Come on. You can’t handle all of that with one arm?”

“Hundred n’ thirty,” Dean mumbled.

Gabriel blinked. “What?”

“Hundred and thirty. It’s what I weigh actually.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah, well.”

Gabriel gaped at him. “You weigh a hundred and thirty pounds?”

“Quiet down.” Dean shot a meaningful glance toward the people in front of them. “They don’t really know.”

“That’s fucking… Jesus Christ.” Gabriel ran a hand through his hair. Dean tried his best to look amused.

“It’s fucking Jesus Christ?”

“That isn’t healthy.”

“You’re worried about healthy?” Dean reached over and tugged out the wrapper of the gummi bears from Gabriel’s pocket. “And this is healthy?”

“I have a fast metabolism. Apparently yours is too fast.”

Dean decided not to mention the fact that he doesn’t eat unless other people are around. Or that he’s still cutting. Gabriel is not the person and this isn’t the time and nobody really needs to know, anyway. He shrugged and kept wheeling. The extra weight of the bag strained his arm. Gabriel moved alongside him, silent for a few minutes, and Dean found it was a little unsettling. Silence with Cas was nice. Peaceful. Silence with Gabriel meant that something was wrong. “Seriously,” Dean said, once they were close to catching up with the others. “Don’t tell anybody. Don’t tell…”  _ Cas _ . He left his name unspoken, but Gabriel knew.

“He would blow a gasket. Shove food so far down your throat you wouldn’t be hungry for a week.”

Dean wasn’t really ever hungry. “I know. I don’t want him to...I don’t know, worry. He has too much on his plate.”

“We just dealt with the family situation. And if you don’t think Cassie can handle it, then you’re wrong. He’s stronger than you think.”

“I know that he’s strong.” Dean’s voice was pained. “He doesn’t need to be caught up in my problems. I have a lot and…he’s already involved himself a lot. I don’t want to put something on his plate that doesn’t need to be there.”

“He wants it to be there.”

Dean looked up. The others were only about ten feet in front of them. “That doesn’t matter,” he said, and it almost hurt to say it. Of course it mattered. Everything about Cas mattered. He saved his life. He always got irritated when it was brought up, but it was true. Cas practically owned him.

Gabriel gave him a slow, sad smile, and they entered the revolving doors.

The ride home was tight and uncomfortable. Sam and Castiel sat in the two back seats, and Dean and Meg sat in the middle as an easier way to get out. Jo and Gabriel sat in front, much to Jo’s obvious dismay. It was quiet, save for Jo’s shitty tape playing (“REO Speedwagon?” Dean complained, but his heart wasn’t really in it) and Gabriel’s occasional “How about we go get something to eat?” which was always answered with a chorus of tired ‘no’s.

They dropped Cas and Meg off at Madge Carrigan’s house, Gabriel at his apartment, and then Jo drove Sam to Azazel’s. There was a quiet moment where Sam just sat in his seat, hands clenched, and Dean panicked silently next to him.

“Well,” Sam said finally, taking a deep breath. “I’ll see you guys. Maybe.”

“Leave it,” Jo snapped.

Sam paused with his hand on the doorknob. “What?”

“Fuck this, Sam! You don’t have to live with that asshole anymore. Just get yourself emancipated. It’s legal. It’s been since you were sixteen.”

“They wouldn’t ever let him live with me, Jo,” said Dean. “I’m a fuck-up. I have suicidal tendencies and I barely make enough to get by.”

“So he can live with me and Mom. Or Bobby. Or, hell, we can call Garth. He’ll take him in.”

“That’s not—” Sam started, and Jo cut him off with a furious glare.

“Not  _ what _ , Sam? Not a stupid idea? Don’t go all Dean on me” (“Hey!” Dean protested) “and just pretend that you don’t deserve nice things, because yes, you’re a sasquatch with emphasis on sass and a giant moose and a complete dork, especially that time you were really tired and tried to kiss me. Azazel is an asshole and everybody knows that you absolutely despise him for what he’s doing to keep you away from Dean and what he  _ did _ to Dean. So leave.”

Sam just looked at her. “I’m…scared.” His eyes darted toward Dean, then, and Dean saw just how fucking terrified his little brother was. “I don’t want him to be angry with me.”

“Then I’ll go with you,” she said confidently.

“Not a good idea.”

Dean pulled out his phone. “I think I know what to do."


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> right so this is a super long mcfucking chapter but? tomorrow is Christmas and I clearly didn't think this through enough (I've been concentrating on my spirk oops) and I'm posting the chapter with the day before christmas on the day before christmas and I'll probably post the christmas chapter tomorrow. I don't really give a fuck ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> cw for self harm, car crashes, fire, non-consensual touching (yikes!!!), alcohol as a coping mechanism

“You want me to what?” The man on the other line sounded amused.

“Come on. You’re terrifying. Hell, make Michael do it. I just thought it would be a better idea to send the guy named Lucifer.” Dean held his breath. This had to work. Even over the phone, Lucifer was kind of terrifying. He would share the shit out of Azazel, especially if he was angry.

“And this is for who?”

“My little brother. Cas’ student.”

“I’ll talk to Cassie,” said Luci. “I’ll see what he thinks. If he doesn’t approve, all of this is off. You’re a good guy, Dean.”

“So you’ve told me.” Dean looked over at Sam and Jo, who were watching him with anxious eyes. They had just recently moved the car a few blocks away from Azazel’s house. “Okay, well, call me back with the answer.”

“Yeah, okay.” There was silence after that, and if Dean wasn’t completely used to it from when he spoke to Cas, he would have thought that the other man had hung up. “Dean.”

“Yeah?”

“The man that is currently Sam’s guardian. What is his name?”

“Azazel.”

“Right.” Luci sounded thoughtful. “Not Lezaza?”

“No?”

“Right.”

“Why?”

“Is he a completely slimy fucker who never quite looks you in the eye? Like he’s wearing contacts and doesn’t see you properly?”

Dean froze. What a small fucking world this was. “Yeah, yeah. And he’s a total douchebag whose voice is the most annoying fucking thing in the world? Completely demeaning?”

“Heh.” Luci made a small puffing noise, like a laugh. “I know the guy. And his name isn’t Azazel. He must’ve spelled it backward, smarmy bastard. It’s Lezaza.”

“His real name isn’t much better than his fake one, is it?”

“Fake name?” Sam sounded worried. “What do you mean?” Dean held up a finger and put his phone on speaker.

“You’re on speaker now, Luci. Meet the family. Sammy and Jo.”

“Jo? Girlfriend?” Luci sounded curious.

“God, no,” said Jo. “Hiya, Luci.”

“Please. Lucifer.”

For a few seconds in the car, there was dead silence.

“I was kidding,” Luci said. “Jesus Christ.”

“Can we please talk about fake names?” Sam asked.

“Your happy-go-daddy’s name, Sam? Azazel? Totally fake.”

“I know. Just. what is it?”

“Alastair Lezaza. He used to work with me. Well, for me. When I was into some nasty shit way back when.”

“I think you mean like four years ago,” said Dean.

“Shut up. It’s all behind me, now.” Lucifer made the huffing sound again. “Okay. Let me talk to Cas. I’ll stress the fact that it’s ol’ Ali and he’ll practically be begging me to show up at the guy’s door. Talk to you later.”

“Bye, Luci,” Dean said, and his voice held a certain cheer. “You’re the greatest.”

“I know. See you all in a few days, I guess. Hold on, Sammy.”

“Don’t call me Sammy,” Sam said, not sounding the least bit irritated. “Thanks for this.”

“Yeah, yeah. Hanging up now.” A click sounded, and Dean tucked the phone back into his pocket. “What’s the plan?”

“I guess…” Sam shrugged. “I guess I’ll just go home and pretend nothing’s happening.” 

“You can stay with me,” Jo said.

“I can’t. He wouldn’t let me. I think I’ve been out too much for him to let me go anywhere. I told him I was picking up my friend’s aunt.”

Dean snorted. “I kind of admire your ability to come up with a different alibi every single time you come to visit.”

“Thanks.” Sam gave him a small smile and slid the door open. “I can probably walk from here. He’ll think it’s suspicious if he sees the same car again.”

“Would he be able to notice?” Jo sounded doubtful. Sam gave her a look.

“Come on, Jo. You’ve met the guy.”

“Unfortunately,” she muttered, and she pulled Sam toward her so she could hug him. “Bye, Sasquatch.”

“Hey. I thought that was Dean’s thing.”

Dean rubbed his knuckles into Sam’s hair, much to the younger boy’s dismay. “Bye, Sammy.”

“Bye, Dean.” Sam tried to scowl at him, but he couldn’t hold the face. “Okay. I’ll text you or something. Okay?”

Dean grinned, even though Azazel—Alastair, whatever—was just a block away, which made his stomach queasy. “Bye, Sammy.”

  
  


The first few minutes in Madge and Meg’s house was just like always—Madge was a little smothering and tried to shove a little too much food toward Castiel, and Meg gave her mother a lot of sarcastic remarks that weren’t entirely necessary but still made Madge laugh. 

Once Castiel had four plates of food in front of him on the dining table and Meg was settled next to him on the couch with a blanket in her lap, Madge left them alone and went to the kitchen to make more food. Castiel fidgeted with his fork.

“So. Meg…”

“Yeah, I guess now’s the time to tell you what’s going on,” Meg sighed. “Look, Clarence. You’re really sweet and you know I love you. But…I can’t stay with you. We can’t keep seeing each other like this.”

Castiel had known that this was coming. Dean had told him, hadn’t he? Dean had told Castiel that Meg was going to ‘break up’ with him. “I…” He swallowed. “I don’t understand.”

“You don’t understand what’s going on or?”

“I don’t understand why.” Should he be feeling hurt? Castiel wasn’t really hurt at all. He was just confused.

“Because you aren’t in love with me, Clarence.”

Castiel blinked at her.

“And,” Meg continued, “I’m not totally blind.”

“I…don’t understand.”

“You aren’t in love with me, Clarence.” Meg’s smile was gentle. “You’re in love with Dean.”

Castiel didn’t know what to say.

“Which is okay,” Meg said quickly. “I’m okay with it. Which is why I wanted to talk to you.” She reached out and took his hand. Her palm was soft under Castiel’s. “You and I, we weren’t going to work out. I know I was just temporary, and I know that you would be a lot happier than Dean.”

“Dean and I…”

“Dean and you what?”

“We aren’t. He isn’t.” Castiel was stumbling over his words. 

“You think he doesn’t feel the same way?” Meg smirked and leaned back, but she still held onto Castiel’s hand. “Honey, I’ve seen the way he looks at you. He acts like you hung the moon. Or invented Impalas, maybe. Or cheeseburgers. The point is, he likes you, okay? Maybe he even loves you. And I know that you love him, too.”

“I’m so sorry Meg. I was trying to get over it because I thought that he would never…” Castiel’s breath caught. He forced more words out. “I thought that. I didn’t mean. You’re. I’m. I’m so sorry. I thought.”

“Clarence, settle down.” Meg pressed her hands to either side of Castiel’s face. “It’s okay. Settle down. I love you. And I understand that you love somebody else. And that’s okay. And I fully support you. How about you go home and you think this through, okay? You can call me anytime. I can get Mom to pack up all your food.”

Castiel smiled. “Packing the food won’t be necessary.” He stood up and fidgeted with his sleeves. “Thank you, Meg.”

“Anytime.” Meg pulled him toward her face and pressed one last kiss to his mouth. “I love you, Castiel.”

There was a moment of silence. Castiel pulled back and stared at her. “Did you just…?”

Her lips curled into a smile. “Don’t get so excited. I can actually say your name, you know.”

“You…never have before.”

Meg squeezed his hand. “Goodbye, Clarence.”

 

Castiel’s hand hovered over the door for a few seconds before it dropped onto the wood, rapping once, twice, three times. Gabriel appeared in the doorway.

“Cassie?”

Castiel dripped onto Gabriel’s doormat. He gave his cousin an apologetic smile. “Sorry about that. It’s…It’s raining.”

Gabriel looked over Castiel’s shoulder, at the pouring rain and the crackling thunder. He raised his eyebrows. “Yeah. I can see that. Come on in.”

Castiel stepped in and his trench coat quickly made a small puddle on the hardwood. “I’m sorry.”

“I can get you a change of clothes and throw your clothes in the dryer, if that’s okay.”

There was a small moment of panic that knotted in Castiel’s stomach, but he pushed it away and forced another smile. “Yes, thank you.”

Once he had changed and his clothes were tumbling in the other room, Gabriel sat Castiel down with a mug of hot chocolate and a blanket. “Tell me what’s going on,” he said, and Castiel was once again grateful that this man—this man who was constantly joking and popping candy into his mouth—could be serious in the right moments. 

“Meg decided to end things between us,” Castiel told him. “She said that she wanted to ‘break up’.”

“Oh.” Gabriel swirled the coffee in his own mug and sighed. “Did she say why? Or was it one of those mutual things?” 

“She told me why. She said that it was because I wasn’t in love with her. That I was in love with Dean.”

“ _ Oh _ . So she noticed.”

“Gabriel.”

“Cassie, you knew it was going to happen sooner or later. You knew that you weren’t going to end up living with her for the rest of your life, right? It was Dean. It’s always been Dean. Well, since you’ve met him. Which was like a few months ago, but what can you say?”

Castiel preferred to keep his mouth shut on that subject. 

“Are you going to tell him?” Gabriel asked finally. “About breaking up with Meg.” 

“Of course I will. I’m not going to lie to him.”

“Are you going to tell him before the Christmas party?”

Castiel fiddled with his mug. “I don’t know. Maybe. Probably. I always talk to him about things. He’s…well, to be honest, he’s my best friend.”

“Oh. You’re making friends, now?”

Castiel gave Gabriel a dirty look.

“What? You never did before. Remember when you were in school?”

“I remember,” Castiel said dully.

“Yeah. You didn’t have any friends. And now you’re rolling in them.”

“Well, I did have a reason for not having any friends. Nobody wanted to talk to me since I was younger than them. I wasn’t entirely surprised.”

“What about college? Nobody wanted to talk to the prodigy?”

“Nobody wanted to talk to the prodigy.”

“But now you have friends.”

“I guess so, yeah.”

“Don’t ‘I guess so’ me. You have Meg and Dean and Sam and what’s-her-face, Jo, and whoever her mom is, and.”

“The list stops there.” Castiel took another sip from his mug and winced when the chocolate burned his tongue.

“Still. It’s more than what you had before.”

“I guess so.”

Gabriel reached out and put a hesitant hand onto Castiel’s shoulder. “Look, Cassie. It’s going to be okay. You’re—” Then Gabriel’s phone rang and he sighed when he looked at the screen. “Sorry, Cassie. It’s Luci.”

“Go ahead.” Castiel wrapped his hands tighter around his mug, and the heat warmed his hands. He tried to pretend that he was holding somebody’s hand. Maybe Dean’s.

Gabriel tapped his phone and held it up to his ear. “Yo, Luci. Yeah, I’ve seen him. He’s sitting right across from me with a blanket around his shoulders. Yeah, he just showed up, soaking wet. Why? ‘Cause it’s raining, that’s why. Yeah. It rains here, believe it or not. Huh? Oh.” He covered the end of his phone and looked at Castiel. “What’s going on with your phone?”

Castiel lifted it up. It dripped water onto the coffee table.

“Oh. Hey, Luce. It’s totally drowned. There’s no way that’s gonna work. Yeah, sure.” Gabriel handed over the phone. “Luci wants to talk to you.”

Castiel took the phone and, very gingerly, held it to his ear. “Hi, Luci.”

“Heya, Cassie. You all dried up?”

“For the most part, yes. Thank you for asking.”

“Good, good. I wanted to ask you something, see if it’s okay with you.”

Castiel paused. “You wanted to ask my permission for something?”

“Yeah, is that so weird?”

“Um.”

“Okay, so I’ll tell you what happened. Your Dean-o called me up with this bit of a dilemma. Sam’s trying to get himself emancipated. And the buddy in charge of Sam is totally a jackass. Azazel?”

“I’ve met him. He is…not a pleasant person.”

“Yeah, I know. I worked with the guy once upon a time. His name’s Alastair Lezaza. And long story short, he’s a bad guy. So I wanted to know if you were okay with me stopping by when I come to visit you and scare the shit out of him.”

“What exactly do you want to do?”

“I just want to make sure he won’t go after Sam, you know? Nothing too scary.”

“But what will you do? I don’t want you to get in trouble again.”

“I didn’t actually  _ do _ anything that last time, Cassie. That was on Dad. He framed me.”

Castiel sighed into the phone. “Can we not discuss this right now, Luce? Just. Please tell me what to expect.”

Luci told him.

“So is it okay or not?”

Castiel took a deep breath. “I guess it’s okay.”

“Thanks, Cassie. Do you want me to call Dean or do you want to call him?”

“I’ll call him.” Castiel rubbed his face. “I’ll call him. I wanted to speak to him anyway.”

“Okay, awesome. Love ya, Cassie.”

“I love you, too.”

“Do you want to call Dean?” Gabriel was watching him with an odd look on his face. “Maybe tell him about you and Meg?”

“Yeah, I’ll call him.”

Castiel talked to Dean for an hour. He told him about Lucifer and his giving permission. He told him that he was at Gabriel’s house and the hot chocolate was a little bit too chocolaty. He told him about his phone totally being ruined from the rain, and when Dean asked him why he was in the rain in the first place, Castiel told him that he had been walking. He did not tell him why. He did not tell him about Meg.

When he hung up, he only got a sad, sympathetic look from Gabriel.

  
  


Dean woke up alone.

He had just had another dream about the crash, and his skin still seared from where it got singed from the explosion. He was getting real tired of it, of waking up in a sweat every single damn day. The last few nights, there was somebody there to hold him, to comfort him.

Today, there was nobody. Jo was working in The Roadhouse. Sam was still at that bastard Azazel’s. Lezaza. Whatever.

He curled his right arm around himself and leaned forward, wheezing. He had had to live like this for years before he met Cas. He could do it again.

Dean waited until his breathing calmed down and took a second to look up and think  _ thanks for not making me use that fucking inhaler _ before he curled back into the covers.

Shit. Shitshitshit.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to rid himself of all the memory of the car crash, but sleep tugged at him again, and then he lost consciousness.

He dreamed again.

This time, he woke up in his childhood bedroom. There was a sharp smell in his nose, the kind of smell that stung his nose when he and his family sat around a campfire and the smoke blew in his face. Dean covered his nose with his blanket, and then he shoved it away because he got too hot.

He heard yelling, and he slipped out of bed to investigate. His mom and dad fought a lot, and Dean didn’t like it. The yelling made his ears hurt. Sometimes he was able to get them to stop.

Dean cracked open his door and immediately his face was washed in heat.

Sammy’s room was on fire.

He ran toward it, saw his mother through the flames, pressed against the wall.

“Mommy!” he screamed. “Mommy!”

His dad appeared, then, and shoved Sammy into Dean’s arms. “Take your brother outside and go,” he shouted into his face, and Dean shrunk away from it. Sam was crying. 

“Mommy—” He tried to say.  _ She’s in there. She’s in there. She needs help. _

“Now, Dean, go!”

Dean went.

He ran outside, clutching Sammy, his mind trying desperately to figure out what was happening. Why it was happening, why it was happening to  _ him _ .

He ran.

Then his dad picked him up and he ran too, clutching Dean, Dean clutching Sammy.

Sammy was sobbing. Dean tried whispering to him, and then he realized that he was crying, too.

Where was his mom? Why wasn’t she here?

Behind them, there was a loud noise. His dad fell to the ground, and Dean and Sam hit the ground hard. Dean hugged Sam tight. He curled around him, trying to protect him from the heat that was beating onto Dean’s back.

“Sammy, it’s okay,” he whispered, finally able to get the words out. “It’s okay. I’ll protect you.”

Sammy quieted. Dean squeezed him.

“It’s okay, Sammy,” he murmured, rocking him as their dad ran back toward the house. “It’s okay.”

Dean jerked awake again. His hand immediately shot out and he grabbed his inhaler, twisting off the cap as quickly as he could and shoving it into his mouth afterward. He took one, two, three puffs. The medicine tasted sour in his mouth, but he swallowed it down and took a few more deep breaths. “God dammit!” he screamed into the emptiness of his room. “God  _ fucking _ dammit!”

Dean threw himself into his wheelchair and grabbed the first sharp thing he saw—an old razorblade that he used to shave with. He dragged it across the skin on his hip sideways, making three thin lines. He did it again. And again. It stung but it didn’t quite hurt enough. He tried making a cross hatch.

It didn’t fucking hurt  _ enough _ .

He cursed and threw it aside, and it landed on his bed, flicking blood onto his duvet. “Fuck!” he bellowed, wheeling himself into his bathroom. He fumbled with the razorblades underneath the sink, spilling them across the bathroom floor. He caught one and he dug it into his hip deep. There was no ritual this time. No whispers for forgiveness, no bathroom full of steam.

Blood trickled onto the floor, dripping steadily. He dug in another cut. He carved in a word: worthless. He carved in more into his stomach: no, no, no, no, no, no; until his arm was too weak to move and his fingers were shaking too much for him to hold on anymore.

Then he dropped the razor blade, and it clattered onto the floor with all of the others. He slid out of his wheelchair, into the bathtub. The porcelain was cold against his skin.

He waited. He waited for the sun to rise, for the phone to ring, for anything to happen.

Nothing happened. Nothing moved. Nothing but the blood dripping out of Dean’s new wounds.

He pressed his bloody fingers to his eyes and he cried.

 

At four, the phone rang. Dean had been sitting in the tub for ten hours. His tears had long since dried, and the slow trickle of blood had finally come to a stop.

He blinked himself out of his daze and pulled himself up, settling into his chair numbly. The phone rang again. He wheeled himself to it and he picked it up. It screamed in his hands. He pressed the speaker button.

“Hello?” His voice sounded distant.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean sighed in relief. At least it wasn’t Sam. Or Jo. They knew about his nightmares. “Hey, Cas.” The last time he talked to him was the night before, when Cas called to tell him about Luci. “How are you doing?”

“I’m doing fine, thank you.”

“What’s up?”

“Well, the day after tomorrow is Christmas, and therefore, the Christmas party. I was wondering if I could see you before then.”

Dean’s stomach clenched, and he suddenly felt the urge to vomit. He didn’t want to see anybody right now. He didn’t want to deal with Cas’ sympathetic face and his stupid big eyes. “I don’t know, Cas,” he said. “I’m pretty busy with my job” which was bullshit. His at-home job of telling people how not to break their computers was bullshit. He only got a few calls a day, and it paid horribly, and he really did not have any clients today. The first three days before Christmas, his boss, Samuel, told him, would be call-free. Dean suspected it was because Samuel felt sorry for him, even though he made it clear that he disliked Dean.

“Oh,” said Cas. “I see.”

“Sorry.” He really was sorry.

“Well, then I’ll see you at the Christmas party, I suppose.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Cas was quiet for a few moments. Then, “Are you alright, Dean?”

Dean reached down, under the waistband of his boxers, and pressed on one of his new cuts. Blood seeped through his fingers. “I’m okay, Cas. Why’re you asking?” That was it. That was good. Sound completely okay and he won’t come to check on you, Dean, he told himself, pressing down harder. Don’t let him get concerned. Make him think you’re completely okay, that you’re just busy with things.

“I don’t know. You sound…different.”

“Yeah? Different how?”

Cas hesitated. “I’m not sure. Are you sure that you’re alright?”

“I’m perfectly fine, Cas. See you at the Christmas party?”

“Yes. I’ll…see you then.”

“Okay. Bye, Cas.”

“Goodbye, Dean.”

Dean hung up. He wiped the blood off his hand with a tissue and dropped it into the trashcan. Red stained his boxer shorts.

  
  


Castiel hung up. He waited for a moment, staring down at Gabriel’s phone, before sighing and putting it down on the table. Gabriel came in with a big bowl of popcorn. He popped a kernel into his mouth.

“You tell him? ‘Bout Meg?” 

“No. I tried to make plans to meet him, but.”

“But?” Gabriel prompted. 

“But he was…busy.”

Gabriel snorted, popped another handful of popcorn into his mouth. “Dean Winchester, busy? I doubt it.”

“That’s the thing. Dean isn’t normally busy. I’ve never had an issue where he was busy. He insisted he was fine, and I guess I’ve always been able to tell if he wasn’t, since he was pushing people away. But he didn’t seem to be trying to push me away. Still…”

“Still?” Another prompt.

“He sounded different.”

“Different how?”

Castiel curled his hand into a fist, frustrated. “I don’t know. I just kept getting the vibe that he didn’t want to see me.”

Gabriel frowned. “Dick.”

“Gabriel,” said Castiel disapprovingly.

“What? You saved his life. I think you deserve a little courtesy.”

“He has more than paid his debt,” Castiel said. He dropped his head into his hands and took a deep breath. A few hours earlier, he had woken in a state of panic before remembering where he was, and then Gabriel came in with his clothes. The outfit comforted him. He wished he never had to take it off.

“What’d he do? Let you drag him places? Come on, Cassie. You saved his life. He owes, like, two lives to you.”

“Gabriel,” said Castiel, again, quieter.

“I love you, Cassie. I don’t want to see you hurting like this.”

“I’m not hurting. I’ll be fine.”

“Uh-huh. You want some hot cocoa?”

“Please.”

A couple minutes later, they both sat on Gabriel’s couch again, Castiel holding his mug of cocoa, Gabriel holding a cup of coffee. They sipped in silence.

Finally, when Castiel was done with his drink, he said, “I should probably be getting home now.”

“You can stay, if you want.”

“No, I should be getting home. I’ll be fine.” Castiel stood and started toward the kitchen. “I should probably get a new phone.”

“Yeah, probably. Text me when you have it, okay?” 

“I will.” Castiel set his cup in the sink. “Thank you for everything, Gabriel.”

“No problem, Cassie. You know I would do anything for you. We all would. Even Dean Winchester would.”

Castiel nodded tightly. “I’ll see you at the Christmas party.”

“No, I’m seeing you before then.” Gabriel gave Castiel a smothering hug. “Take care of yourself. And keep me updated.”

“Okay.”

 

Castiel went home and he slept. When he woke, he did not hold a phone in his hand. His finger did not hover over the call button. His phone sat on the table next to his bed, untouched, plugged in. His hands were knotted in the sheets. He blinked up at the ceiling for a few seconds, debating whether or not he wanted to get up. There wasn’t any way he was going to get back to sleep, but there was nothing for him to do when he got up. Gabriel was probably busy with something, the family issues that had just arisen; he was probably claiming himself a job at the new corporation that Lucifer and Michael were setting up against Zachariah and Naomi. Gabriel had never wanted to pick between his cousins, but when he could side with both of them at once—well, Castiel knew he wouldn’t blow off that chance. He also knew that Gabriel would put it off if Castiel called him, so Castiel wasn’t going to do that. Meg—well, Castiel had no wish to call Meg. He still liked her, still considered her his friend. But it was too soon. Her slow syrupy voice would only upset him at the moment.

And Dean. Well, he was an enigma. Castiel didn’t even know where their relationship was. Yes, he was attracted to Dean, and maybe he hoped that Dean was attracted to him, too. Castiel had caught him looking. But it might have been just  _ looking _ , like friends look at one another. Castiel liked to think that it wasn’t like that, that he was looking at Castiel like he looked at Dr. Sexy. So there was attraction in their relationship, one-sided or not. Castiel even knew that before he dated Meg. Castiel knew that he was attracted to Dean the moment he wheeled into his room, dark and brooding, but his eyes lighting up whenever he looked at Sam. Sam, who was Castiel’s favorite student, because he was dutiful. Because he was strong and he didn’t back down, and Castiel admired that about him. He admired it in Dean even more. How Dean could withstand all he had been through and still move on. Yes, he had issues. Yes, he had scars in his skin that were never going away. And Castiel knew that those were huge problems. The important thing, though, was that he was still here. That he had answered the phone, that something inside him still wanted to be alive.

Castiel squeezed his eyes shut, trying to remember all that had happened that night. He normally tried to block it all out. He normally tried to just move those memories away, because they made him panicky and nervous.

But now, he tried to remember.

He remembered the feel of Dean in his arms. Warm, but cooling down. The rush of blood on Castiel’s fingers. Desperately trying to knot the trench coat around Dean’s gushing arm.

And  _ Dean _ .

_ I’m so sorry, Mom _ , he had said.  _ I couldn’t live up to your dreams. _

Then:  _ I’m sorry I let you down, Dad. I’m sorry I’m not as strong as you are. _

Then:  _ I’m sorry, Sam. I shouldn’t be the one you look up to. I’m not worth it. _

Then:  _ I’m sorry, Cas. I’m so sorry _ .

What  _ was _ that? Was it some sort of ritual that Dean did? Some sort of mantra that he just whispered every time he hurt himself? The thought made Castiel sick, and he pushed himself out of bed and rushed to the bathroom, reaching the toilet just in time to vomit up the contents of his stomach. He flushed and sat on the floor for a few moments, breathing with his head resting on his hands, his elbows planted firmly onto his knees. The bile tasted sour in his mouth.

He hadn’t even known Dean for that long, so the fact that he was so attached was ridiculous. Still...Castiel, he felt responsible for Dean. He felt like he was Dean’s protector.

Hell, Castiel knew that he would rebel against his own family again if it meant saving Dean. He knew that if Zachariah was going to hurt Dean, he was going to rebel. Even Lucifer and Michael--if they were putting Dean through any kind of harm, well--

Suddenly pain knifed through Castiel’s side, interrupting his thoughts, and he gasped, clutching his chest. He curled into a ball, finally caught his breath through the pain, and looked down. It felt like he had been stabbed, but he couldn’t see anything wrong. He peeled off his shirt. Still nothing.

_ What the fuck _ ?

He touched the skin where he had felt the pain, but it was gone now--it throbbed, but no more pain.

What the hell was going on?

 

Dean carved another symbol onto his chest, a star. He surrounded it with a circle, glanced down at the little drawing that he had scribbled out just a few seconds before.

He almost laughed again. Protection, the website proclaimed, is what the pentagram provided. Dean wasn’t entirely sure what he was protecting himself from, but he figured he might as well try.

He scraped in one flame, then another. He went around the circle, one flame at a time. This scar would last a long time. It would be etched into his skin like the other ones--a tattoo, but this one had some meaning, at least. The others had been desperate. This, Dean thought--this was special. This, he decided suddenly as he finished off the flames, would not be to protect himself. It would be to protect everybody else. It would keep Dean in and keep other things out, keep other things away.

As he rinsed off his razor, he decided it was absolutely perfect.

 

“Are you sure there’s nothing wrong with me?”

Balthazar looked at Castiel over the rim of his reading glasses. His fingers that were holding the pen twitched.

“Cassie, I did study to be a doctor And I do have pretty sophisticated equipment here.” 

“Yes, but.” Castiel twisted the sleeves of his coat. “I’m just. Worried.”

This earned him a soft smile, and Balth slid his glasses off and walked over to Castiel. He leaned forward, and his breath brushed Castiel’s cheeks. “You’re perfectly fine,” he said.

Castiel leaned back, ever so slightly. “Are you sure?”

“I am sure. Absolutely sure. Positively. Completely. Radically. Irrationally. Awesomely.”

Castiel knew that he would continue, so he interrupted. “Then what happened?”

A smirk spread across Balth’s face, slow and steady. “Was it heartbreak?” There was something in his face that Castiel didn’t like. 

“Did you…?” 

“Of course I heard about your breakup, Cassie. I am, after all, your oldest friend.” With this Balth sent him a wink, which Castiel uncomfortably tried to ignore. “Come on, Cassie. You’re no fun anymore. What happened to us?”

“I...ah. I went to school. That might have been it. It might have also had something to do with the fact that you’re seven and a half years older than me.”

Balth clutched his chest. “Why must you always mention the half?”

“I feel it important.”

“Come on, Cassie.” He leaned forward again. “I’m in town. Let’s have some fun, okay? Let’s just go. Let’s have fun.”

“I don’t want to have  _ fun _ . I want to make sure nothing’s wrong with me.” 

“Look, whatever you felt,” said Balth, “I don’t know what it was. It might have just been your imagination, because there is nothing wrong with you. I did every check possible and this hospital,” he added, waving his arms, “Has everything you could possibly need. You’re  _ fine _ .”

“If you say so,” Castiel said doubtfully.

“Now tell me what’s up.”

Castiel didn’t really know what was up. That was what he was trying to figure out. He told Balthazar so, and his friend just shook his head and smiled.

“That’s not what I meant, Cassie. I meant what’s going on in your life that’s got you doing...this.” He gestured vaguely at Castiel, who tilted his head at him.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“The whole leaning away thing? Man, I get the whole age difference deal. But you’ve never rejected  _ closeness _ from me. Hell, last year, you let me kiss you.”

Castiel remembered that. It was before Sam and Dean came in for conferences--before the WInchesters somehow enveloped his whole life. Castiel had met Balthazar in a nice restaurant for a meal and maybe a few drinks. It was nothing more than a friend meeting a friend, but when Balth kissed him, Castiel didn’t necessarily pull away.

That whole week had been stressful. Castiel was in a weird mood.

“Did it ruin us?” Balth asked, pulling Castiel from his memories. “Me kissing you?”

Castiel blinked at him, unsure what to say.

“I didn’t want to be involved with you,” he said; “I never have.”

Balth looked hurt. “Never?”

Castiel confirmed this. “We were only ever...friends.”

“Friends,” Balth repeated. “There’s somebody else, isn’t there?”

Castiel stood. He straightened out his coat. “That’s not really any of your business, Balthazar. Thank you for your generosity and your assistance. I think I will be taking my leave, now.”

“Taking your leave?” Balth stepped toward Castiel, who took a cautious step backward. “Come on, Cassie.” He reached out and took Castiel’s hand. “Come on. Don’t be a stiff.”

“A stiff?” Castiel stared at him. Around them, machines whirred and buzzed and suddenly all Castiel could think of was the last time he had been here--when Dean tried to kill himself. Across him, Balthazar was standing, his hand still gripping Castiel’s, and his face had something that Castiel did not recognize--something that Castiel had never seen before in his childhood friend.

“Cassie.” His eyes were dangerous. Castiel tried to pull his hand away.

“Stop, Balthazar. I want to go home.”

“Why can’t you just tell me the truth? You used to tell me everything.”

_ Because I don’t trust you anymore, not since you kissed me. _ “Because I have other things on my mind.”

“Other things?”

“Balthazar, you’re hurting me.” Balth’s face twisted into a smile, false and ugly. “Sorry, Cassie,” he said, and he let go. Castiel rubbed his wrist. “Call me, will you? I’m only in town for a few more days.”

“I will if I have the time,” Castiel answered, an empty promise, and fled.

 

He finally decided to visit Dean, check up on him, just to confirm that he was okay. Then he could get out of Dean’s hair. Forever, if Dean wanted that.

The drive there was brief and Castiel didn’t remember much of it, just that Led Zeppelin played on the radio and Castiel kept thinking about that little girl in the hospital whom Dean had been so good with. He pulled into his usual spot in the parking lot--a few spaces away from the staircase, and slid out. His movement up the stairs was just as forgetful as the car ride, and soon he found himself in front of Dean’s door, hand hovering over the wood.

He remembered the first time he had been here, gripping the phone in one knuckled hand. He had pounded at the door, had screamed at it, had kicked it down.

Now he was afraid to make a sound. Now he was afraid to announce his presence.

Dean didn’t want him here. That much was clear in their phone call. Castiel wasn’t wanted and he should just leave.

But he didn’t. He stayed there, standing in front of Dean’s door with his fist in the air, not having the courage to knock and not willing to leave.

The person who lived in the apartment next to Dean’s walked past Castiel, chattering on their phone, but then they stopped. They hung up and stared at Castiel with a curious expression on their face.

“Waiting for Dean?” they asked.

“Haven’t knocked yet,” Castiel said. He lowered his hand to his side and sighed.

“Oh,” said the neighbor. “Don’t bother. He won’t answer.”

“What do you mean?”

“I knock a few times,” they said. “Every day or so. He never answers, but I hear him, sometimes. Crying. Talking, sometimes, but mostly crying.” They shrugged and stuck a key into their lock, twisting it smoothly.

“Crying,” Castiel repeated numbly.

“Yeah. I always thought he was tougher than that, but I guess you never really know a guy, huh?”

Castiel opened his mouth. He wanted to say that even tough people cry, too, that Dean was tough, that it was perfectly fucking fine, okay, for Dean to cry, but nothing came out. It wasn’t until the neighbor had disappeared into their apartment that one soft syllable fell out of Castiel’s mouth.

“Oh.”

He looked at Dean’s door again. He knocked once, twice, and waited a few beats. No answer. He hadn’t really expected one, anyway, but it worried him. 

Castiel knelt and checked under the doormat for a key, and when he didn’t find one, he sighed. He hadn’t wanted to put Gabriel’s lessons to use, but he was worried. And Dean hadn’t left his apartment in days. The last time that had happened, Dean tried to kill himself.

Castiel didn’t want to find Dean slumped in his own blood, apologizing to the empty air with broken whispers. He didn’t want to hold Dean in his arms again, with his blood staining Castiel’s coat and his suit and--

He knocked once more before he dug into his pocket for the little case Gabriel had gotten him last Christmas. Black and leather, it looked more like a wallet than a lock-picking kit. He turned it over in his fingers, taking deep breaths.

There could be consequences for breaking into Dean’s apartment. Dean might not forgive him. Hell, Castiel wouldn’t blame him if he called the cops.

But there could be consequences for not breaking in. Castiel knew that Dean was hurting, and while he may not want help, he certainly needed it. And Dean might be injured.

Dean might be injured. He was hurting. 

In the scheme of things, wasn’t helping him more important than playing it safe?

Castiel opened the case and pulled out the picks. Each small tool fitted into the lock, he fiddled with it for a few seconds before he finally heard the lock click open, and then he pushed his way in.

Dean’s apartment was stuffy, and as soon as Castiel inhaled, his nose and throat were filled with dust. He coughed “Dean?” No answer. Castiel scanned the apartment for steam. There was none. He made his way to Dean’s room. “Dean,” he called out again tentatively. He knocked softly. “Are you in there?” 

There were a few seconds of silence--silence that stretched out so painfully. Then, “Cas?”

“Yeah. Can I come in?”

Another few seconds of painful silence. “Okay.”

Castiel twisted the door open. Dean’s room smelled of sweat and blood. Clothes were scattered across the floor, some darkened with splotches of blood. Dean himself was sprawled in his bed, covers skewed across his feet. His shirt was off, but some parts of his torso--most parts of his torso--were wrapped in bandages. Underneath the edge of his boxer shorts, Castiel could see that there were bandages on his thighs, too. Between his fingers, he held a bottle, which he shook a little at Cas as he gave him a weak smile.

“Hey, Cas. Didn’t know you would drop by. I would’a picked up. Maybe taken a shower. Done my hair.”

“What--” Castiel’s voice caught. He cleared his throat. Tried again. What happened?” 

The smile trembled. “I fucked up, is what happened.”

Castiel took a step forward so he was standing at the foot of the bed. Dean opened his mouth again.

“Can’t really expect much from me, can you?”

“Don’t say that.” Castiel’s voice was surprisingly fierce.

The corners of Dean’s mouth pulled again. “You’re kind of cute when you’re angry.”

“I’m not angry,” Castiel said, and he forced his voice to remain calm. It was the truth, kind of. He wasn’t angry. He was furious.

“Oh. Cool. Think you could get me some Tylenol? I kinda hurt.”

Castiel didn’t move. “I wonder why that is.”

“Oh, now you’re using sarcasm with me?” Dean reached up and rubbed his face, wincing when the movement moved his bandages.

“Did you properly bandage yourself?” Castiel asked, and he got a look.

“Of course I did. I have experience. So?” Dean’s thumb stroked the side of the whiskey bottle. “Think you could get me some Tylenol?”

“I’m not giving it to you while you’re drunk.”

“Not drunk. I don’t get drunk, remember? I can’t. I’m just a little.” He paused. “Woozy, I guess. That’d be the technical term.”

This wasn’t right, Castiel thought. Why was Dean being so carefree? It was like he didn’t even care that Castiel had broken into his house, had come in while Dean was baring his wounds to the world. Shouldn’t he be yelling at him right now, telling him to get out, to leave him alone? To let him die in peace or whatever?

He took another step toward Dean. Another. He was standing beside him now, in the corner of Dean’s nightstand and the bedside. “What did you do?” he asked softly. He reached out with one hand and brushed Dean’s cheekbone with his fingers.

“Artwork.” Dean’s smile seemed to be having difficulties staying up. “Literature.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’m broken, Cas.”

Castiel sat down on the bed and held Dean’s face in his hands. “You are not broken, Dean WInchester. You are bent.”

“In half.” The smile was almost gone, now. “You can’t fix something that bent, Cas.” 

“You don’t need to be fixed. You need to be healed. You’re hurt and what you need is to be healed.” He stroked the side of Dean’s face. “You just need to let people try and help you, Dean.”

“I know.” The laugh that Dean forced out was harsh. “Sammy keeps telling me that.”

“Your brother is very wise.”

Another laugh, harsher than the first. “Yeah. Yeah, I know. They were both quiet for a few moments, and then Dean said, “Hey, Cas?”

“Yes?”

“You’re a good guy.”

“Thank you, I suppose.”

Dean’s face twisted. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” Castiel’s brow furrowed. He tilted his head.

“For involving you in all this.”

“Do you think this is a hardship for me or something?”

Castiel had expected a snarky remark or something in reply, but instead Dean burst into tears. It was like whatever thing that had held him together since Castiel walked in had disintegrated. He sobbed and pressed his hand to his eyes. 

“Dean,” Castiel said softly. He wrapped his arms around the other man and hugged him close, careful not to put pressure onto Dean’s wounds. Dean sobbed and he clutched Castiel’s shoulders and he sobbed into Castiel’s coat. He cried, and Castiel held him, until they both fell asleep. 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't all of it but it's a lot and it's cute. Prepare for more Christmas tomorrow
> 
> I think I only need to cw for food
> 
> Merry Christmas to everybody who celebrates Christmas and enjoy the holidays to everybodyou else!! I love you all that kind you so much for your support.

“Hey, Cas.” 

A soft voice, not Meg’s. Whispered into his ear in the softest tone Castiel thought possible.

Who was it?

The Castiel remembered--it was Dean. Dean who was the warm body curled next to his, Dean whose lips were brushing against Castiel’s ear. Dean whose arm curled around Castiel’s waist. Castiel--what was a good word?--snuggled into it. “Hello, Dean.”

“Can you turn around?”

Castiel twisted. Dean’s face was so close that their noses brushed, that Castiel could count Dean’s freckles, if he wanted to. “Hello, Dean,” Castiel said again, rather unnecessarily.

“Can I--” He stopped. He couldn’t seem to open his mouth, couldn’t seem to finish the question.

“Can you what, Dean?” 

“Can I, uh. Get some Tylenol?” 

That wasn’t what he was going to ask. Castiel could tell. But he just slid out of Dean’s embrace and dropped his feet to the ground. “Dean,” he said.

“Yeah?”

“Will you promise to stop this? At least until next year?” He forced himself to look back at the other man, who was rubbing his eyes with his hand. 

“Why until next year?”

“It at least gives me enough time to try to convince you to stop forever.  Just six days, Dean. And then I’ll leave you alone.”

Something clouded Dean’s eyes. “You’ll leave me alone,” he repeated. 

“If that’s what you want. Where do you keep your glasses?”

Dean dropped his face into his pillow. “It’s in the cupboard to the right of the sink.”

Castiel had done something wrong, but he didn’t know what it was. He shook his head as he walked to the kitchen, kept shaking his head as he poured Dean some water and kept shaking his head as he dug through the cupboards until he found the bottle labeled “Acetaminophen” and dropped two pills onto his palm. Then he forced the motion to stop as he walked back into Dean’s room and put both the glass and the pills onto Dean’s nightstand. “Don’t try to drink lying down,” he said. Dean grumbled and pushed himself up.

“Yeah, yeah.” He scooped up the pills, popped them into his mouth, washed it down with the water. “Ugh. Did you get this from the sink?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Dude, I have water in the fridge. The filtered shit.”

“I was unaware you wanted to drink shit. My apologies.”

Dean started laughing. “You have the worst jokes, man.”

Castiel grinned back. “You’re laughing. So it can’t be that bad.”

“I’m laughing because it was  _ terrible _ , and I’m embarrassed for you.”

“Okay, sure. You keep telling yourself that.”

Dean’s laughter faded into a soft smile. “I missed you, Cas.”

“And I, you, Dean.”

The doorbell rang, and Dean moved to stand up. Castiel stopped him. “You’re in no position to be moving. Rest. I’ll get it.”

“Don’t let them in.”

“What if it’s--”

“Cas.” Dean caught his arm. “Please. Make something up but don’t let them in. Even if it’s Sam. I don’t want him to…”

“Okay, Dean,” Castiel said gently, undoing Dean’s vice grip. “I’ll come up with something.” He patted Dean’s leg and then stood up and moved to the door, smoothing out his coat and suit as he walked. There was nothing he could do about his hair, but he gave it a quick run through as he opened up the door.

It was a man. Very gruff-looking. He had an old baseball cap on his head and a gray beard on his chin. “Uh...hey,” he said. 

“Hello,” said Castiel.

“Who’re you?” The man’s voice was getting gruffer by the minute.

“Aren’t I supposed to be the one asking that?” Castiel leaned on the doorframe and crossed his arms.

“I’m Bobby. I’m looking for Dean. Now who the hell are you?”

“I’m Cas.”

Bobby squinted at him. “Cas?  _ The  _ Cas?”

“I’m not sure I know what you mean.” This didn’t sound good.

“You’re the boy who saved Dean, ain’t you?” 

Cas didn’t answer for a moment.

“Ain’t you?” Bobby repeated.

“You’re Dean’s surrogate father,” said Cas finally. “The one who owns the garage. Dean speaks very highly of you.”

“Surrogate father?” Bobby looked pleased, which meant that he looked a little less gruff than normal. He shrugged. “That idjit always did have a flair for the dramatic. Where is he?”

“Sleeping. Can I take a message?”

“Sleepin’?” Bobby echoed. “Really? This late into the evenin’?”

“What time is it?”

That got him a strange look. “Sixteen-hundred.”

“Huh. Guess I should start dinner.” Castiel stepped back into the apartment and wrapped a hand around the door. “Did you want to leave a message or what?”

“I, uh…” Bobby’s cheeks were pink. “Just tell him I came by, okay?”

“Sure.” Castiel nodded at him and then firmly shut the door, locking it for good measure.

“Who was it?”

Castiel turned around. Dean was wheeling in, slowly but surely. “What are you doing? You should still be in bed.”

“I was just gonna refill my water.”

“Let me.” Castiel hurried forward and took the glass out of Dean’s hand. “It was Bobby. He was looking for you.”

“Oh. Well, I’ll see him tomorrow, right? For the Christmas party?” He took the water as Castiel handed it over. “I can just call him tonight sometime. He goes to bed at eight but I can catch him after dinner, probably.”

“What do you want to eat?”

“Huh?”

“For dinner. What do you want me to make?”

“You don’t have to stay, Cas. You probably have plans with Gabriel.”

“Dean, nobody should have to spend Christmas Eve alone. Luci and Michael are coming down with Alfie and Anna, anyway, so Gabriel will be fine. Now, what do you want for dinner?”

“Uh.” Dean raked a hand through his hair. “What do I have?”

“Not much. You have, uh...hot dogs? And a salad kit, it looks like. Some potatoes. Uh...pasta.”

Dean smiled lopsidedly. “Sounds gourmet.”

“I can certainly try. How about macaroni and cheese with hot dogs? I can make the salad, too.”

Dean drained the rest of his glass and dropped it onto the counter. “Cas, man, if you make it, I’m sure it’ll taste like a five-star meal.”

“I’m not very good at cooking. Baking I can do, but cooking?”

“Baking? Like...I don’t know, pie?”

“That would certainly make our evening. But, Dean, you don’t have any fruit. You’ll have to wait until tomorrow to taste my pie.” He looked over his shoulder as he started pulling ingredients out. “And you might want to get cleaned up. If you don’t want anybody to know about…”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll go take a shower.”

“Do you want any help?”

“I can probably manage to take a shower by myself, Cas.”

The last time Castiel was here, he hadn’t managed to. He gave Dean another worried glance and got a smile in return.

“Honestly, Cas. I got this. If I need help I’ll holler.”

“If you say so.” Castiel started searching through the cupboards for a pot in which to boil the macaroni. “Be careful.”

“You too.”

That made Castiel smile. He tore open the box of macaroni and stopped for a moment, waiting for the stove to heat. This felt...right. Sure, there were parts that felt wrong--Dean’s heavily bandaged torso and leg, the dense feel of the air, the sharp tang of blood in his nose--but mostly it felt right. Here, standing in Dean’s apartment after waking up next to him, cooking them both dinner. Laughing. Joking. It felt right. It felt natural.

“What are you smiling about?”

Castiel jolted to attention. He hadn’t noticed Dean had finished the shower and was already exiting the bathroom. The macaroni was almost bubbling over, so Castiel reached over and turned it off. He must have just been going through the motions. Dinner was practically done. “I don’t know,” he said. “I guess I’ve always craved this.”

“What, macaroni and hot dogs?”

“No. Making dinner. Domestic life. My family didn’t do a lot of this. We had...servants.”

“Holy shit. How rich is your family?”

“Very.”

“Well, I’m.” Dean rolled a little closer. Castiel could smell his shampoo. “I’m glad you’re happy, Cas.”

Castiel’s cheeks heated. He looked away and pretended it was the steam, even though the macaroni was quickly cooling down with the milk he was pouring into it. “Dinner’s almost ready. Do you want to set the table?”

“Set the what?”

“The table, Dean. Here.” He passed over a couple bowls and plates, which Dean dropped into his lap with a clatter, and then silverware followed.

“Aren’t there like. Rules? About where the knife and fork and whatever go?”

“Dean, that doesn’t matter. Just do whatever looks best.”

“Seriously?”

“Whatever you do, those can be the new rules. It’ll be called ‘The Winchester Arrangement’.”

“Nice.” Dean grinned at him and wheeled into the dining room. There was a bit more clattering, and then Dean called, “Okay, dude? I can’t take all the credit for this. I think it should be called something a little more along the lines of…‘Win...vak Arrangement.’”

Laughing, Castiel came in to set down the macaroni and salad on the table. “That’s the worst thing I have ever heard. Winvak?”

“You know. Winchester. Novak. Winvak.”

“Your creativity astounds me.”

Dean hit him. “Asshole.” Then he looked across the table and licked his lips. Castiel imagined he would be rubbing his hands together if his left side could move. “This looks delicious. You a professional cook, Cas?”

“I try.” Castiel reached over and served Dean a spoonful of macaroni, then a big bunch of salad.

“Whoa, hey. I don’t need that rabbit food--”

“Dean.”

Dean shut his mouth.

“You know,” Castiel said conversationally, picking up his own fork, “I’m not as stupid as you think I am.” From the corner of his eye, he saw Dean freeze.

“Uh. What do you mean by that?” 

“Your eating habits? You don’t think I just ignore the fact that I can see your ribs sticking out, do you?”

“Oh. That.”

“How much do you eat, Dean?”

“I eat whenever somebody’s around,” Dean protested.

“You go for days sometimes without seeing anybody.”

“Yeah, well...I don’t get hungry.”  He held up his hand. “But I know what you’re going to say. I promise to eat every day until the New Year.” 

“Thank you, Dean.” 

“You know, if it was anybody else trying to get me to do this, I would pummel them.”

“Well, I’m glad I’m not anybody else, then.” They ate in silence for a few more minutes before Dean spoke again.

“Cas, I...I know it gets brought up a lot, but I don’t think I’ve ever actually thanked you. For saving my ass. Three times.”

Castiel’s breath caught. “Three times?”

“Yeah. I’m pretty sure I’d be dead by this time if you hadn’t showed up. What’d you do, anyway?” Dean narrowed his eyes at Castiel. “How’d you get in? The door wasn’t kicked down.”

“Uh...no. I picked the lock.”

“You  _ picked _ my  _ lock _ ?” Dean’s mouth fell open.

“Yes?”

“Dude, that’s fucking awesome. You should teach me sometime.”

Castiel stops eating for a moment to gape right back at Dean. “You aren’t upset at me?”

“No. I didn’t know you could pick locks! Who taught you how to do that? ‘Cause it doesn’t seem like something you would just learn for shits n’ giggles.”

“Guess,” said Castiel dryly.

“Gabriel?”

“Yes. He insisted. Said it would come in handy.”

“Guess it did.”

They grinned at each other for a second, and then both of their phones started ringing. Castiel shrugged. “Might as well.” He dug his new phone out of his pocket, slid his thumb across the screen, and held it to his ear. “Hello?” Across the table, Dean was also answering his phone.

“Cassie? Where you at, man?”

“Gabriel. Have my siblings arrived yet?”

“They’re on their way. I can see them walking toward me. Why aren’t you here? You were supposed to pick them up with me.” 

“I’m at Dean’s.”

A long, long silence. Then: “Oh. Is he okay?”

“As okay as he’s been in a while, I think.” Castiel looked over at Dean, who seemed incredibly engrossed in the conversation he was in with whoever was on the other line of his phone. 

“That’s good. You’re still both coming tomorrow? And you’re still baking?”

“Yes to both. Gabriel.”

“Yeah, Cassie?”

“Can you apologize to everybody for me? I can do it person tomorrow but for tonight, I…”

“Sure, Cassie.” Gabriel’s voice was gentle. “I’ll pull a few strings. Work my magic. We won’t bother you for the rest of the night.”

“Thank you, Gabriel.”

“Anytime. Love you.”

“I love you, too.” Castiel hung up and slowly looked back over at Dean, who was watching him with raised eyebrows. “What’s wrong?”

“Cas, why does my entire family think we’re sleeping together?”

 

Dean isn’t really sure what kind of response to that he expected. Honestly he’s still reeling from having Bobby--fucking  _ Bobby _ , with Jo squealing in the background--ask him how long he’s been sleeping with Cas. 

“Oh, yes,” said Cas. “That must be from our conversation earlier.”

“You told  _ Bobby _ that we were sleeping together?” Dean can’t help but notice his mouth puts emphasis on ‘Bobby’ instead of ‘sleeping’. 

“Not at all.” Cas leaned back in his chair, looking far calmer than Dean felt. “Any information he gathered from our brief encounter must have been assumed.”

A laugh bubbled out of Dean’s chest. “So what you’re saying is you  _ implied  _ that we were sleeping together, let Bobby put the pieces together, and never corrected him?”

“It gives us time. They won’t contact us again tonight. We can just straighten out any...misunderstandings...in the morning.” 

“You’re more devious than I thought.” Dean can’t fight the smile that seems to be permanently stretching his mouth. “First the lock-picking and now this. How much else do I not know about you, Cas?” 

Cas sobered up very quickly.

“Cas?” Dean said tentatively.

“There’s a lot about me that I’ve not told you,” Cas said softly. 

“Everybody has secrets, man, it’s okay.” Dean was getting nervous and he didn’t like being nervous.

“Sometimes I feel like my secrets are…” Cas shook his head. “I’m ruining dinner. What do you want to talk about?”

“Okay, uh. What about the Christmas party tomorrow? What’s the plan?”

“We’re going to Gabriel’s. I’ll drive you and pick up Sam and we’ll meet everybody at Gabriel’s loft. At around four, we’ll head down to the Roadhouse for dinner.”

“Who all will be there? At Gabriel’s?”

“Gabriel, Luci, Michael, Alfie, and Anna. And Sam.”

“So none of the douchebags?”

“No. None of the...douchebags...will be present.”

“So we’re going to have a rockin’ Christmas.” Dean leaned back in his chair satisfactorily. “I gotta tell you, Cas, you’re gonna love your present.”

Cas looks up at this, raising his eyebrows. “You got me a present?”

“Of course I got you a present! What do you think I am, a monster?”

“You didn’t have to do that. You’ve given me enough presents already, Dean.”

Presents? What presents? “I have not,” Dean said. “That ballet thing doesn’t count.”

“More than the ballet, Dean. Just...everything. Being with you is a gift enough.”

Holy shit. Holy  _ shit _ . Dean might be imagining things but that sounded almost...No. It couldn’t be. Cas didn’t like him. Nobody liked him. “I still got you a gift,” he said finally.

“Well...thank you, then, Dean. I got you a gift as well.”

Ooh. Nice. “What is it?” Dean asked, leaning forward. Cas frowned at him.

“I’m not going to tell you that.”

“Okay, well, if I guess, will you tell me? I’ll let you guess what your present is.”

“No, I won’t tell you. But you can certainly gloat tomorrow if tonight your guess is correct.”

“You know me so well.” Scarily well. “Okay, uh...gift card to the Roadhouse.”

Cas’s glabella crinkled at him. “What a lazy gift.”

“It was a start, okay?”

“I hope that isn’t what you got me.”

“Oh my god, Cas, it isn’t, okay.” Dean rubbed his chin. “Uh...new…” He stopped to look at Cas, whose face hadn’t changed. That fucker had the poker face of a fucking  _ champion _ . “Wheelchair?” he guessed.

“You just got a new wheelchair.”

“Well, we’ve ruled two things out.” Dean shot him a grin. “Though I  _ have  _ been asking for a new wheelchair. You know one of those with the giant-ass cushions on it?”

“You have not.”

“It would be nice, though.”

“Well, it isn’t what I got you. And I’m not talking about this anymore. You can guess all you want, but you are getting nothing from me.” 

So that’s how it’s going to be. “More macaroni,” Dean guesses through a mouthful. Castiel laughs and shakes his head.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“But I  _ got  _ something out of you!”

“Only because it was a  _ completely _ ridiculous notion.”

“Oh, come on. I’ll have you know that macaroni and cheese is my absolute favorite food.” Dean sniffed and tried to look haughty, but Cas wasn’t buying it.

“You’re full of it.”

“Am not.”

“Pie is your favorite food.”

“Okay, fine. Did you get me pie, then? Wait.” Dean held up his hand again, stopping an interruption that never would have come because Cas always waits his turn to talk because he’s a polite asshole like that. “Please don’t tell me your plan was to make pie tomorrow for everybody and pretend that it’s my present. Because I will not have that bullshit on this, the day of my daughter’s wedding.” 

“That was not my plan. I actually did get you a present.”

“And it’s not pie?”

“It’s not pie.”

“Is it one of those coupon things?”

“I’m not sure I understand to what you are referring.”

“Oh, it’s like. This shitty thing that people do and I mean sometimes it’s okay but usually it’s just annoying because the coupons aren’t worth shit? Like. Basically person A gives person B a coupon book, which is filled with activities or favors that person B can do with or get from person A. Only person A is usually a boring asshole who writes coupons like ‘one free hug’ or ‘one trip to the museum of natural boring history redeemable once’.” Dean shrugged. “I speak from experience, by the way. Last year Rick gave me one and it was probably the worst gift I’ve ever gotten.”

“Rick?”

“My neighbor. Sometimes the coupon book thing can be cute--and don’t you dare tell Sam I called something cute--but it’s just for like. People who are super close, you know. Then it’s just a matter of being for the hell of it instead of being a way to develop a relationship.”

“You’ve thought a lot about this.”

“Yeah. Ever since Rick’s present…” Don’t get him wrong, Dean thought Rick was an okay guy. Not good, not bad, just..okay. And maybe a little creepy. He always acted like they were best friends or something. Dean had invited him in  _ once _ for coffee, just to be polite, and Rick had pounced on it.

“He was trying to contact you yesterday, you know,” said Cas.

“Oh. Is that who was knocking? I thought it might be Sam or somebody.”

“No. Sam is busy with the expungement paperwork. He wanted to come over, but Bobby and Jo and Ellen still needed him to work through some things. You and Rick, are you…” There was something in Cas’s voice.

“Are we what?”

“Are you two friends?” 

“No. Why?”

“Something he said bothered me.” Cas shook it off and started cleaning up their plates. “It doesn’t matter.” 

“Wait. Was he talking shit?”

“He.” Castiel fumbled with the silverware. “He made fun of you for crying. Well. Not made fun of. But he put you down for it.”

“Oh. Awesome. He heard me.” That’s exactly the last thing that Dean needed.

“Uh...Dean?” 

“What’s up?”

“I know that this place has a lot of bad memories for you, and judging from recent reactions, you aren’t too fond of your neighbors. So if you want--if you want--you can move in with me. I certainly have enough room and my flat is wheelchair accessible.”

Whoa. Dean had not been expecting that. “Uh.” That’s all his fucking brain can come up with.

“You don’t need to arrive at an answer now, of course. You can let me know on New Year’s. I just want you to know that you have options. You aren’t stuck here, Dean.” 

“Cas…” Dean still didn’t know what to say.

“It’s okay, Dean. You don’t need to say anything. Do you want to watch a movie?”

Dean did want to watch a movie, but sitting next to Cas, Dean couldn’t concentrate. He couldn't stop thinking about the possibility of living with this guy. His savior. He couldn’t stop thinking about waking up in the morning to Cas in the kitchen. Maybe waking up  _ next _ to him. Sitting like this, every night, shoulders touching. Maybe having a dog. Laughing together. Eating together. 

Living with Cas? That sounded like heaven. And Dean didn’t deserve heaven.

 

“What do you think? Sweater or suit?”

Dean had probably asked this question a million times already but he still couldn’t decide and Cas kept giving non answers but Dean couldn’t help but not mind because this felt so domestic and he always wanted the apple pie life.

“Cas?” he bellowed. “Cas, my man, what are you doing?”

Cas came out of the bedroom in his suit, but the jacket was all buttoned up and the tie was on the right way and the trench coat was draped around his arm.

And holy. Fucking. Hell. Cas looked so attractive.  Dean hadn’t known how well-fitted that suit was before but it was  _ really _ well fitted. It fit Castiel so perfectly that Dean could see the muscles of his thighs, the outline of his shoulders. Holy shit. If Dean wasn’t in a wheelchair he probably would have pounced on him by now, and Dean admired his own self control.

“Getting dressed.” Cas looked flustered. “I’m going to try today without the trench coat, but I’m going to bring it with me just in case.”

“You look.” Dean swallowed. “Very nice.”  _ Handsome _ , his brain whispered,  _ Hot. Sexy. Bangable. _ “Come here.”

Cas approached warily and Dean grabbed his tie and tugged him down. Was it Dean’s imagination or were Cas’s cheeks a little red? “What’s wrong, Dean?”

“You didn’t tie your tie right. Give me a sec. I can do this one-handed. I’ve had practice.” Dean struggled for a moment, but he fixed it and then instructed Cas to hold one end as he tightened it. “There. Perfect.”

“Thank you, Dean.” It also must be Dean’s imagination that Cas’s voice is a little more rumbly than normal. “Have you decided between the sweater and the suit?”

“No, man.” Dean huffed. “I was asking you for your help. I have no idea what to wear.”

“Go with the sweater. It’s nice.” Cas smiled and straightened. “What do you want for breakfast?”

“What were you just cooking?” Dean had woken up to Cas cooking--just like in his fucking fantasy--but when he wheeled out, there wasn’t any breakfast to be seen.

“I was just baking the pie crusts a little. That way they’ll be ready to be filled by the time we get to Gabriel’s.”

“You know I’m leavin this relationship if your pies are bad, right?” Everything that just came out of Dean’s mouth was a lie since A. no pie was bad and B. there was no way Dean was leaving whatever their relationship was anytime soon.

“I’m sure. So. Breakfast?”

“You wanna go to the diner? You won’t have to cook and we’ll have a lot more options.”

“Okay. Do you want me to invite Sam?”

Oh hell, no. “Uh...yes?”

Cas chuckled. “We can pick him up afterward.”

“Oh, thank god. I’m not ready to see the Sasquatch yet.”

“I brewed some coffee. Want some?”

“Fuck yes.”

“Get dressed and it’ll be ready for you when you’re done.” 

“Thanks.” Dean started wheeling toward the bedroom, and the next thought that shoots through his brain stops him in his tracks.  _ I love him _ . He turns his head to look over his shoulder,  _ I love him _ . Then, grinning, he slides into his bedroom and swings the door shut.

_ I love him _ .

 

“Cassie!”

Like five million people bellowed this as soon as the door opened and Cas, right behind Dean, lifted a hand. “Hello, everyone.”

A blonde man strode forward and stuck out a hand. “Lucifer. You must be Dean, right?’

Dean shook. “I really doubt you didn’t know that. Gabriel likes to show pictures of everybody he meets.”

Lucifer laughed. “Guilty. And you must be.” Lucifer took a step back and looked Sam up and down. “Sam. Huh.”

“Oh no,” said a brunet, also coming forward. He had a notepad tucked under one arm and a giant ass mug of eggnog in the other. “Sam, I’m so sorry, but you’re screwed.”

“What?” Sam looked worried.

“Luci’s gonna torment you for this entire holiday. He always chooses somebody.” The man nodded at Dean. “Hey. I’m Michael.”

“I figured as much. Nice to meet you.” 

“Same.” Michael gestured down the hallway. Dean could see the corners of a few counters but not much else. “Alfie and Gabe and Anna are all in the kitchen. You want any eggnog, Dean? Sam?” 

“Does it have alcohol in it?” Dean asked.

“Gabe made it, so yeah.”

“Sure,” said Sam brightly.

“ _ No _ , Sam. Sam will have apple cider. But I’d love eggnog, thanks.”

“We have virgin eggnog.” A new voice. As they came into the kitchen, Dean saw who it was--a pale girl with big eyes and long red hair. She had Gabe’s trademark mischievous smile across her face until she spots Dean, and then she blushed and batted her eyes.

“Anna,” said Gabe sternly, “No.”

“What?” She looked up at her cousin and shrugged innocently. “I wasn’t doing anything.” 

“Yes you were. You were on the verge of flirting with Dean. Well, you can’t. Dean’s Cassie’s. If you want to flirt with somebody, flirt with Sam.”

“Don’t flirt with Sam,” said Sam, who still looked worried.

“Don’t worry, kid, I won’t flirt with you.” Anna brushed her hair over her shoulder. 

“Kid?” Now Sam looked offended. “I’m  _ seventeen _ .”

“You look older,” said a smaller voice, and Dean had to look around before he found presumably Alfie under the sink, curled up in the cupboard.

“Thank you. I like to think so.” He straightened his shoulders and accepted the apple cider Luci was handing to him.

“Are all family gatherings like this?” Dean murmured to Castiel, who seemed perfectly happy.

“Usually worse. Sam seems to be fitting right in.” 

“What’s the deal with Luci?”

“Oh, he. He always picks somebody to mercilessly play pranks on during the holidays. I guess Sam is this year’s victim.”

“Should I be worried?”

“No. They’re always harmless.”

“Hmm…”

“What are you thinking, Dean?”

But Dean’s already got something up his sleeve. He rolled closer to Lucifer, got his attention, and jerked his chin to another corner of the room.

“What’s up?” Luci asked once they were in as much privacy as they would get.

“I heard you were planning on playing a few pranks on my brother.”

Lucifer tilted his head. It was so  _ Cas _ that Dean had to stop and remind himself not to punch Luci, that Luci was alive first and that Cas had probably gotten the habit from his older brother. “I hope you don’t ask me to stop,” he said carefully.

“No, man. I want in.”

“Really?”

“I haven’t done a prank war with Sammy in ages. And he’ll never have to know I was involved. I can pull off pranks while you’re out of the room, which means it’ll be impossible for you to do. You’ll seem even more untouchable.”

A smile curled Luci’s mouth. “I like the way you think, Dean.”

“Thanks.”

“Do you want anything in return?”

Dean looked toward Cas. He was at the counter, sitting between Michael and Sam, and Gabriel and Anna were across them. They were all laughing about something. 

“You like him, don’t you?” Lucifer’s voice was very soft. Dean looked at him, startled, and Luci shrugged with that small smile on his face. “I knew it the second you walked in. You couldn’t keep your eyes off him. He likes you, too, you know.”

“No, he...he just feels obligated.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.” 

“You’re the devil, right? Aren’t you supposed to be convincing me to do bad things?”

The only word to describe Lucifer’s smile then was ‘wicked’. “Oh, Dean. I’m sure once you get into a relationship with my brother you will do  _ very _ bad things.”

“Oh my god.” Dean wheeled a little backward. “Oh my  _ god _ . This conversation is so fucking over.”

 

“So, uh.” Gabriel leaned forward a little on the counter. “I heard that Dean is exceptionally good at presents, and I have a couple questions about that.”

“Shoot,” said Sam.

“First off, am I going to get a present?”

“Probably. He considers himself anti-Santa if he doesn’t get everybody presents. He’s...very serious about Christmas.” 

“Okay, okay. Good news. Next question.” Gabriel leaned a little closer. “Where the hell did he hide the presents? Because he didn’t come in with them. Did he leave them in the car, Cassie?”

“Uh, no. Only Sam and I brought presents into the car.”

They all looked toward Dean. He was moving very quickly away from Luci, who was laughing so hard he was on the floor. “That can’t be good,” said Anna.

“No, seriously. Where did he hide them? Either he didn’t bring any or--”

“He brought them,” Sam said firmly. “He always finds a way to get presents under the tree, no matter the situation. You’ll never catch him handling the presents, but they always end up under the tree one way or another.” 

“It’s a trade secret,” said Dean, who had finally reached the counter. He sent a wary glance back at Luci, still on the ground. 

“Come on. You gotta tell us,” Gabriel begged.

“Nope.”

“Would you tell me?” The question came out of Castiel’s mouth before he could stop it. Dean looked over at him, bemused. 

“Maybe.”

“ _ What _ ?” Sam bellowed. “You’ll tell  _ Cas  _ but not  _ me _ ?”

“Not really all that surprising,” said Gabriel.

“What does  _ that _ mean?”

In the commotion, Castiel leaned down toward Dean. “Did you really mean that?”

“Of course I did. I won’t lie to you until New Year’s.”

“You’re more committed to this than I thought.”

“I’m a committed man. Last five days of the old year, new me.”

Castiel smiled and passed Dean his eggnog, poured into the coffee cup that Dean insisted he always drank out of.

“So, Cas, Dean,” said Sam, and everybody kind of leaned forward to hear what he had to say, “Is what Bobby said true? You finally got your shit figured out and slept together?”

Following this was a chorus of “ _ WHAT _ ”s and “ _ EXCUSE ME _ ”s, resounding from everybody but Alfie, Sam, Dean, and Castiel. Sam held up his hands.

“Last night, my Uncle Bobby went to pay a visit to Dean and  _ Cas  _ opened the door and said that Dean was  _ sleeping _ .”

“Cassie, you sly dog,” Gabriel shrieked, clapping his cousin on the back. Wincing, Castiel leaned away from him but was immediately met with more claps on the back, from Luci and Michael on each shoulder. 

“ _ Ow _ ,” he said, frowning at them.

“You got your shit together!” Michael crowed.

“Okay, what the  _ fuck _ is going on?” Anna pouted, arms crossing over her chest.

“Basically,” said Gabriel, putting a hand on each of her shoulders, “Our Cassie and Dean-o here have been walking--and wheeling--circles around each other ever since they met a few months ago. And we’ve been waiting for them to fuck each other since, well, forever.”

“Guys,” said Castiel tentatively, looking over at Dean. But the other man didn’t seem bothered by what was going on. He seemed almost...pleased. But that couldn’t be right.

“I mean, it’s weird that you’re sleeping with my history teacher, Dean, but also you guys are  _ perfect _ for each other,” Sam gushed.

“Honestly.” Luci had slung an arm around Castiel’s shoulders and was gazing at his younger brother proudly. “I’m proud of you, Cassie. Finally settling down.”

“We aren’t--”

“I’m happy for you, Cassie,” said Michael serenely. “Sam’s right. You do seem to fit each other.”

This was going nowhere fast. Castiel looked back over at Dean and mouthed  _ what do we do _ ? Dean only lifted his shoulder. Helpful. Castiel frowned at him and tried to speak through the melee again: “Guys, we--”

“Wait!” Gabriel bellowed. “Everybody stop talking! Right now!”

Everybody froze. Gabriel was holding his hands up.

“Nobody...move...a muscle…” And then he sprinted off into one of the back rooms.

“G--”

“Cassie,” Lucifer said out of the side of his mouth. He was frozen with his arm halfway up, chin tilted back a little. “Gabe said not to move. No moving.”

Castiel bit back a curse but he waited, patiently, for Gabriel to return. His cousin was hiding something between his hands, and Castiel felt a shock of fear shoot through him.

“Gabriel--”

“No talking.” Gabriel grinned. “Everybody close your eyes.”

Oh no. No good things happened when Gabriel told anybody to close their eyes, but the day would go nowhere if people didn’t listen to him. Last Easter the entire family had had to listen to Gabriel sing the “I’m all alone, there’s no one here beside me” part of Bette Midler’s “Friends” over and over until they cooperated. Then again, once they did, Castiel’s father had received a pie to the face. Since then, Chuck had been on a “business trip” to Mexico. He’d left shaking his head.

As the outcome of this situation couldn’t possibly turn out as bad, Castiel dutifully shut his eyes and braced himself. He felt Gabriel move behind him.

“Okay,” said Gabriel gleefully. “Open your eyes!” 

Castiel opened them and twisted around to see what Gabriel was doing. He immediately got a faceful of leaves. “Gabriel, what--”

“Mistletoe?” Lucifer started laughing. “Gabriel, how old are we?”

“Cute.” Michael was laughing, too. “Come on, Cassie. Dean. What are we waiting for?” Michael would never admit it, but he was a romantic.

Castiel looked down at Dean, who was staring up at the mistletoe with red cheeks. He couldn’t do this to Dean. Sure, he liked him--really, really liked him--but he had no assurance that Dean would be okay with this. “Dean--” he started to say, but was once again interrupted by a chorus of “KISS! KISS! KISS!” over and over again. Dean’s mouth--that mouth that Castiel so badly wanted to lean down and press his lips against--was opening and closing, but nothing was coming out. Against everything that his heart pushed him toward, he lifted a hand, and the room quieted.

“Dean and I are not together,” he said. “Anything Bobby told you was an assumption.” He pretended his people skills were pre-Winchester when he said this, pretended he couldn’t see everybody’s crushing disappointment clear as day on their faces.

“We  _ know _ ,” said Sam. Castiel frowned.

“Know what?”

“I mean, Cas.” Sam spread his hands, gesturing at everybody around them. “You put on a good show. Uncle Bobby actually thought that you two were sleeping together. He was just, you know. The only one. Not that it’s impossible,” he added hurriedly. “I mean--”

“Stop talking, Sam.” Dean pressed his hand to his eyes. “Where’s your bathroom, Gabriel?”

“Down the hall.” Gabriel sounded more sullen than usual. As Dean wheeled away, he gave Castiel a pitying look.

“What?”

“Cassie, you…” Now Luci was speaking, and he was rubbing his hands across his face. “You had a chance, man, and you blew it.”

“You knew. About me liking Dean.”

“Man, of  _ course _ I know. We all know.” He pulled Castiel toward him, wrapped him in a hug that Castiel didn’t know he needed until he was enveloped in his brother’s arms. “How are you two so dense that you can’t see it?”

“See what?”

“Oh, Cassie,” said Michael sympathetically.

 

Dean shut the door after himself as quietly as he could, trying to calm his breathing. Man, how could he be so fucking  _ stupid _ ? How could he  _ ever  _ think that Cas liked him? He was so fucking close, too, to reach up and wrap his hand through Cas’s tie and pull him down to his mouth--so close to following that gut instinct that followed the urge he’d had since he walked into the fucker’s classroom.

It’s just. In all the commotion, Dean looked toward Cas and the guy was blushing and it didn’t really look like the ‘get me out of here’ kind of blush and Dean was aching to reach up and Cas was protesting but not vehemently and not when Gabriel started dangling the mistletoe above them and Dean  _ almost _ said fuck it and he  _ almost  _ went for it but then Cas told everybody the truth and Dean almost cried real tears when he realized that Cas didn’t give a fuck about him. Not in that way, at least. Dean was boring and he was stuck in a wheelchair and he was an absolute mess and yeah, maybe Cas felt an obligation to take care of him. Dean had heard somewhere that in the Chinese culture, if you save somebody’s life, you’re responsible for them forever and maybe Cas was following that. Who knew? Whatever the situation was, it wasn’t that Cas liked Dean back, whatever Luci said. Because if Cas liked Dean back, he would have told everybody that they weren’t together. Right? Was that how it worked?

He splashed his face in some water from the sink and looked at himself in the mirror for a moment. God, he looked tired. Sickly, even. Apparently cutting yourself up right before a Christmas party wasn’t the best idea, and whatever was in that eggnog certainly wasn’t helping. His eyes were sunken and his face was pale. His cheeks looked more hollow than normal.

_ Just six days, Dean. And then I’ll leave you alone _ .

When Cas had first said it, Dean had been worried that meant Cas wanted to leave. Then they’d spent the day together, and Cas made them macaroni and hot dogs and they’d talked and laughed and neither of them worried about a thing, and then Cas offered to let Dean move in with him, and Dean wondered if maybe--just maybe--that “I’ll leave you alone” was an offer, a  _ just in case you don’t like me _ because Dean knew that Cas was an insecure dude, and that Cas actually wanted to stay.

But now. Now it seemed like he wanted to leave. A “I’ll fix you and then I’m gone” kind of deal. And that was just fucking Dean up.

He splashed his face with water again and took a deep breath. “You can do this,” he whispered to himself. “You can do this. It’s just another social gathering. You do this every year.”  Then he wheeled himself back toward the door and pulled it open.

Cas was standing there.

“Hey, Cas.” He was surprised to hear that his voice didn’t tremble at all. 

“Hello, Dean. Are you alright?”

“Yeah, why?”

“You left…” The space between Cas’s eyebrows wrinkled. “You left rather abruptly.”

“I’m fine, man. Are we going back to the tree? We should probably start opening presents now or we’re going to be late to the Roadhouse.”

“I...yes, yes, we should go back.” Cas stepped to the side, letting Dean roll past him. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine.” After all that Cas had done for him, the lie tasted bitter on his tongue. “You coming?”

 

They sat around the tree in a half-circle. Gabriel was cross-legged on the floor with Anna, Michael, and Alfie sharing the love seat. Alfie sat on Michael’s lap but kept squirming. Then there was Dean and Castiel, each sitting in their own chair, and Lucifer on one of the barstools. Sam sat on the floor on the opposite side of the tree as Gabriel.

“No offense, Dean,” said Sam, frowning at all of the presents under the tree, “But you’re going to have to tell me sometime how you get all of these presents in.”

“No way. You’re going to steal my ideas. I can’t have  _ that _ .”

Sam rolled his eyes and reached for one of the presents, but Gabriel slapped his hand out of the way. “ _ Hey _ .  _ I’m  _ Santa Claus. Fuck off.”

“Okay, fine, jesus.”

Gabriel rubbed his hands together. “As my lieutenant elf, though, Sam, I am going to grant you the first present of Christmas.” He dug out a tiny box and tossed it over. “Merry Christmas.”

“It’s…” Sam looked down at the box and turned it over in his hands. “From...Dean? Seriously, dude, how do you do that?” 

Dean dragged two fingers across the seal of his mouth, zipping them closed.

“Okay. Alright. Whatever.” He shook the box for a moment, close to his ear. “It...rattles. Did you get me another baby’s toy, Dean?”

“Come on, Samantha. That was totally a gag gift. And the nerd kit I got for you totally made up for it.”

“True. Is it…” Sam rattled it again. “Is...it…”

“Oh my god.” Lucifer stretched out his legs and raked both hands through his hair. “Just open the fucking gift, Sam. We don’t have all day.”

“Hey. No cursing on Christmas,” Gabriel chided. “Now, come on, Sam. Hurry the fuck up.”

Sam rolled his eyes and pulled off the wrapping paper, unfolding it carefully like Castiel was fond of doing, peeling off the tape and bending it over the edges of the paper instead of ripping it off, then wiggled the lid off. Inside was a pair of keys on a black carabiner. “Dean?”

Castiel looked over at the man sitting next to him, whose eyes looked a little shiny. “You got that scholarship, Sammy. Don’t think I didn’t hear about it.”

Scholarship? Castiel looked between the two, mouth opening a little. He hadn’t heard about a scholarship. It must have happened while Castiel was away.

“Since you didn’t need that money,” Dean continued, lifting a shoulder, “I decided to spend it on something else.”

Sam was getting shiny-eyed too. “Dean, it says Chevrolet.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it does.”

“You--” Sam’s hand covered his mouth. “No way. No fucking way.” 

“It’s yours, Sammy.”

“Clearly I’m missing something,” said Gabriel, voicing everybody’s thoughts. “What’d you get him?”

Sam was rocking back and forth, now. “Dean, I…”

“Seriously. Somebody  _ please  _ tell me what’s going on.”

“I’m with Gabriel,” said Luci, but there wasn’t nearly as much desperation in his voice.

“The Impala.” Sam got up and threw himself at his brother, wrapping his arms around Dean’s waist. “Dean, you can’t give me the  _ Impala _ .”

There seemed to be something caught in Dean’s throat, because he kept clearing it. “I fixed it all up for you. It’s right outside.”

“You don’t want it?”

Dean laughed. Gestured to his chair. “I don’t have any use for it, Sammy. Better it’s with you than some other asshole. Just. Take care of her, okay? And for god’s sake, do  _ not  _ install one of those iPod things or I’m both suing and disowning you.”

“Okay, well, now I don’t want it.” 

“Shut up, asshole.” Dean swatted his brother’s head, then gently pushed him back to his original position. “Keep going, Gabe. Before Sammy starts crying on us.”

It was too late. Sam’s face was buried in his hands and his shoulders were shaking. Whatever this gift was, it must have been very meaningful to both of them. Castiel wondered if he would ever have something with that much meaning in his life that he could give somebody--sure, his suit and trench coat meant loads to him, but it wasn’t like he could give them to Dean with a “Guess why I can’t take these off usually ever?” 

“You okay, Sam?” Gabriel looked vaguely concerned.

“Yeah, just. Just keep going,” Sam said through his tears. “This’ll probably last a while.” 

“It’s true,” said Dean, shaking his head. “Sam blubbers. It isn’t pretty. If you don’t look at him it might stop.”

“Oh, uh, okay.” Gabriel dug around under the tree again. “Luci, you’re up next.”

It was a present from Michael--an entire pack of “fuck you” business cards. Luci started laughing and flicked one over to his brother, who immediately covered the curse on it, because apparently Michael was under the impression that neither Alfie nor Anna had ever been around other kids their age. Then, as they were going in a clockwise circle, Castiel was next. He received his present with a touch of wariness, and cast a look over at Dean.

“Don’t worry,” said Gabriel. “It isn’t from Dean. After all of that emotion, I don’t want too many presents from him in a row. It might ruin the Christmas spirit if we had to see all of his unusually incredible gifts at once.”

“Who is it from, then?” Castiel couldn’t see anything on the wrapping paper, though he did note it was fairly poorly wrapped. There was tape sticking off the sides and there was a separate strip of paper down the center of it, like whomever had wrapped it had run out of paper halfway through and had to compromise.

Gabriel grinned. “Me.”

Oh no. The last gift that Gabriel had purchased Castiel was a duvet that had seemed innocent enough at first, but when Castiel turned off the lights, there was a glowing naked man stretched out across it. It made for a very difficult night’s sleep.

“Go on,” said Gabriel eagerly. “Open it.”

Castiel carefully removed the wrapping paper and immediately winced. “ _ Gabriel _ .”

“Isn’t it  _ great _ ?”

Gabriel had purchased Castiel a film--not just any film, either; it was a pornographic film. There was a pizza man on the cover making what Dean would describe as a “holy shit” face at a pair of bare breasts. Dean, Sam, Luci, and Gabriel all started laughing.

“Gabriel,” Michael hissed. He covered both Anna and Alfie’s eyes and glared at his cousin.

“Oh, come on, Michael. It’s funny.”

Castiel covered his face. “I hate you. You aren’t allowed to give me presents anymore.”

Lucifer and Gabriel high-fived.

“Cassie, just hide it so we can get on with the presents,” Michael sighed.

“Why hide it? You know what sex is, right, Alfie?”

The boy’s cheeks were bright red. “Y-yeah.”

“See? Fine.”

“ _ I  _ don’t know what sex is,” said Anna a little too loudly.

“Sure,” said Luci. “Sure. You’re sooo clueless.”

“You know who is clueless, though,” said Gabriel thoughtfully.

“About sex? Michael.”

“Oh my  _ god _ ,” Michael groaned.

“What?” Luci raised his hands. “I went to prison for several years and I’m pretty sure I got laid in there more often than you have in your entire life, Michael.”

“We  _ don’t  _ need to hear that, Luci.”

“What? Isn’t like anybody in this room is straight.”

There was a moment of silence in the room. Sam opened his mouth once and then shut it.

“See?” Luci was triumphant. “Not a single person.”

“I’m straight,” said Anna, once again a little too loudly.

“Fuck off, Anael. Everybody knows about your Catholic girlfriend.”

This was nice, Castiel thought, tucking the DVD under a blanket. It was nice being with his family, even if they were all constantly bickering. It was better than the fights disguised as politeness that they would have if Zachariah or Uriel or Naomi were present. He smiled at his family, then smiled over at Dean, who was laughing along with everybody, whose smile seemed real and genuine and not forced or--

Then Dean’s eyes connected with the ground, and there was the slightest falter, and suddenly the smile seemed both fake and forced. And Castiel knew that he’d messed up somewhere, only he didn’t know when he’d messed up, and he didn’t know how to fix it.

“Let’s just keep going,” Gabriel sighed dramatically. “Here, Dean-o, you’re next.”

The smile slid back on, easy and fast. It hurt something in Castiel’s chest. “Oh boy,” he said. “Who from?”

“I have no idea, but this wrapping is as pristine as Cassie’s, holy shit.”

“It’s from me,” said Sam, who’d finally stopped crying and was leaning forward. Dean ripped the wrapping off, wiggled the lid up, and peeked inside. Castiel, higher than him, could see right in, could see a little black cord and a folded piece of paper underneath it. Dean lifted the cord and examined it. “It’s leather,” Sam told him. “It’ll last longer than the one you have now.” 

“Thanks, Sammy,” said Dean, flashing that smile--the one Castiel knew was fake--to his brother. “How’d you know I needed a new cord?”

“You stopped wearing it. I assumed.”

Dean looked down at the cord again and rubbed it between his fingers. His lips moved and Castiel thought he heard “Yeah, that’s why.” Then he looked up and smiled again and said “You’re more observant than I thought.”

Sam looked proud. “I know.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for food and I think that's it?? oh also pda but aren't you here for that
> 
> Hello again! This is the third day in a row that I'm updating so I'll give it some time before I update again, especially since this chapter is sO GAY
> 
> shoutout to jjeess001 for commenting on like every chapter,,,, I know that I don't reply that much but I really am very very thankful. Thank you to all of you, actually, for commenting. Sometimes it's the only thing that keeps me going and it means so damn much to me. Also like, XxMariXxX and shootfortherarls? are you guys okay? You used to comment so much but I haven't seen you around are y'all alright should I be concerned because I am

The paper inside said “more for later” in blocky black letters. Dean frowned down at it. How much later was ‘later’? How long did Dean have to keep this up? Because his smile was already getting tired and it was already drooping and from the way Cas suddenly got quiet, Dean could tell that he’d noticed.

Fuck. He didn’t want to do this right now. It was Christmas and he should be happy because it’s _Christmas_ , but instead he just wants to hide in his apartment.

 _Just six days, Dean. And then I’ll leave you alone_.

Six days, including today. So more like five and a half. And most of those hours, he’d be sleeping, right? He could do five and a half days. That was easy. He’d pretended he was okay for a year and a half when he had to live with Azazel--Alastair. Whatever--and, before that, he’d pretended he was okay for sixteen years when he lived with John. Five and a half days was nothing.

Just. The thing was, he was good at faking it with Sam. He was used to faking it with Sam. He’d done that his entire life. There wasn’t a second that went by that he wasn’t lying to Sam.

_I’m fine, Sam._

_No, Sam, Dad’s just going to be gone for a few days._

_No, Sam, Dad doesn’t hit me that hard._

_No, Sam, Dad loves us._

_No, Sam, I’m okay, I promise._

_No, Sam, I wasn’t crying. I just have something stuck in my eye._

_No, Sam, that bruise is from a stupid fight I got in at school. It’s nothing._

But then there was Cas. Dean, for some reason, found it really hard to lie to Cas. Over the phone it was easy, but looking right into his eyes there was just. There was something. Something that made Dean want to spill it all. Maybe it was his giant eyes that seemed to look right into Dean’s soul. Maybe it was his blunt honesty. Maybe it was the fact that Dean was a fucking sap, okay, and even though he was trying really, really hard not to, he couldn’t stop his chest from swelling whenever he looked over at the guy.

 _I love him_.

He shook his head, clearing the thought from it. He did _not_ love Cas. He couldn’t afford to. Cas had no feelings for him other than protectiveness, and that’s just because Dean kept almost dying in front of him.

“ _Thanks_ , Dean!” Alfie squealed, and the sound finally pulled Dean from his self-pity hole. The kid was holding that puzzle cube Dean had bought him. Cas had one time, offhandedly, mentioned Alfie “would like something like that” and Dean, even though this was like a month and a half ago and before Dean even knew who Alfie was, had remembered because he’s the best at Christmas, dammit.

“You’re welcome, kiddo.”

Alfie beamed at him, tore open the packaging, and immediately got to work on it.

“You really are the best at Christmas,” Cas muttered, scratching at his chin.

“Told you so.” Dean forced smugness into his voice so it didn’t sound quite so emotionless.

Michael was next, and he opened a box from Gabriel and started pulling out a scarf. And he kept pulling. And kept pulling. “Jesus Christ,” he snarled, yanking all of it out at once. It spilled out and pooled at his feet. “How _long_ is this?”

“I was promised fifty feet,” said Gabriel. “It was hard to get in the box, so good luck getting it home.”

“You’re probably the worst at presents here.” Michael shook his head, trying to pick the scarf all up again. “Seriously. What am I supposed to do with this?”

“Well, I know I can’t be the best at meaningful gifts, so this is the next best thing.” Gabriel leaned back and relaxed on his hands. “As you can see, my gifts have received the best reactions.”

“Like Sam’s crying?” asked Luci dryly.

“Shut up. That doesn’t count.”

“I wasn’t crying,” Sam said hotly.

“True,” Dean conceded. “You were blubbering.”

“Me next.” Anna rubbed her hands together. “I want to open what Dean got me.”

It was a set of knives disguised as a makeup kit. Dean had spotted it online, dug around on the internet, offhandedly asked Luci how Anna felt about knives, and then decided it was perfect.

“Makeup?” She sounded disappointed.

“Come on, sweetheart. I’m not that basic. Pull off the cap of the lipstick.”

Anna did so and immediately gasped out loud. “ _Knives_? No fucking way. I mean,” she added hastily, side-eyeing Michael, “No freaking way. Dean, how’d you know I wanted this?”

Dean lifted his chin. “Because I’m the best at Christmas,” he said. “Also, I checked with that boarding school you’re with. They don’t have anything against knives.”

“That’s _awesome_ ,” she gushed. “Holy sh--holy crap, Dean. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

“My turn!” Gabriel shouted. They continued in the circle. Dean got presents from everybody--of course, Cas was also amazing at Christmas and got him a super soft fleece-lined flannel shirt that would Dean is probably going to wear a million times per week at least. And then Dean’s present for Cas came around and Cas’s eyes got hella fucking shiny.

“What is it?” Sam bent toward Cas.

“A pin,” said Cas, displaying it. Dean had found it in this shitty little corner shop right next to his apartment--it was sterling silver and shaped like one tiny little wing, feathers delicate and detailed.

“What, for like, a tie?” Gabriel was very clearly confused. “Why does that make you so emotional?”

Dean grinned. Right underneath the pin, he’d written ‘I’m gonna make you LARP with me, asshole.’ Cas apparently didn’t want anybody else to know.

He tucked the lid back onto its box and held it tightly between his hands. “Thank you, Dean,” he said quietly.

“No problem, Cas.” Dean couldn’t quite meet his eyes as he answered, couldn’t bare to be confronted with his almost-tears. Dean, unfortunately, was not as tough as he pretended to be. He was so close to beginning to blubber like Sam. “Who’s next?”

They continued with the opening of presents. Eventually they ran out and packed their things--Sam complained when Dean struggled fitting through the door (“Okay, but how did you get the presents in here in the _first_ place?”) and they climbed into their cars: Sam, Dean, Cas, and Anna in Cas’s truck, and everybody else in the van.

“Where are we going?” Anna leaned between Cas and Dean’s seats. Her breath was uncomfortably hot on Dean’s neck.

“Ellen’s house.”

“Who’s Ellen?”

“My mom”

“I thought your mom was dead.”

“ _Christ_ , Anna,” Cas hissed.

“Sorry.” Anna didn’t sound very sorry.

“Yeah, she’s dead. Ellen took me in when my dad was away.”

“Is she a good cook?”

“She owns a restaurant,” said Sam. “We’re going there tomorrow morning.”

“She’s a traditionalist,” Dean added. “She likes Christmas dinner at home. That’s pretty much the only time she’s away from the Roadhouse.”

“Can you cook?”

“Me?” Dean frowned and turned around to look at her. Next to him, Cas laughed under his breath.

“Yeah. You.”

“Of course I can cook.”

“Don’t sound so offended. You _do_ only have one arm.”

“I have both arms, thank you very much. It’s just that one doesn’t really work at all.”

“But you can still cook?”

“I’ve adjusted.” He cast a glance toward Cas. “I can’t bake, though. A trembling hand and precise measurements do not mix well.”

“Ha,” said Sam. “Get it? Mix?”

“Shut up, Sam,” said Anna and Dean together. Cas chuckled.

“Cas thought it was funny.”

“Cassie gives into peer pressure,” said Anna. “He’ll laugh whenever he feels like he needs to.”

“That’s not true.” Cas pulled into the driveway and frowned disapprovingly at his sister.

“Okay, fine. He has no idea when he’s supposed to laugh. He just thinks Dean’s funny.”

“But I’m the one who told the joke!”

Anna patted Sam’s leg. “I know,” she said sympathetically.

“Cas,” said Dean.

Cas sighed. “Yes?”

“We’re in the wrong driveway.” Dean jerked a thumb toward the side. “Ellen’s house is over there.”

“Shit.” Cas started up the car again and everybody tried to hide their laughter as Cas rolled them two houses over.

 

“It’s nice to see you again.” Bobby’s voice was very gruff as he shook Castiel’s hand. “Sorry about the confusion.”

“Oh, it’s okay.” Castiel gave Bobby his warmest smile. “It’s mostly my fault, anyway.”

“Who’s this?” An older woman came closer. Her hair was dark and her eyes were tired and kind.

“This is Cas,” Bobby said. “He’s…” A suspicious squint. “He’s Dean’s friend.”

“And Sam’s teacher,” Cas said, offering his hand. THe woman took it.

“Jody Mills.”

“Sheriff Jody Mills?”

“It’s a pleasure, ma’am. Dean speaks very highly of you.” He nodded at Bobby. “He really approves of your relationship.”

Bobby’s cheeks turned red. Castiel may have misjudged the situation.

“My apologies if I have embarrassed you in any way,” he said quickly, but Jody but a hand on his arm.

“Don’t worry about it. Bobby’s a big ol’ sweetheart. He’s just a little shy.”

“Not shy,” Bobby growled. Jody took his arm, winked at Castiel, and steered Bobby away. Castiel ventured farther into Ellen’s house--it was nice. Ellen kept it clean and spacey. On the walls were pictures of Ash, Jo, Dean, Sam, Bobby, and Jody, all happy and smiling and bright. Ellen loved her family, and it showed.

“Make yourself comfortable.” The words were spoken into Castiel’s ear directly, and he jerked away. A spindly teenager with a feathery mullet grinned at him. “Hey. I’m Ash.”

“Oh. Jo’s brother.” Castiel’s shoulders relaxed. “A pleasure.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Ash pulled out a thin roll of paper and stuck it between his lips. “I heard you and Dean were a thing. ‘Bout time.”

“We aren't together,” Castiel said warily.

“Do you want one?” Ash pulled the roll of paper out and tilted it toward Castiel. “I have a few more in my room.”

“I’m… good, thanks.”

“You trying to corrupt Cas?” Sam came up behind Ash and took his shoulder. “Come on, man.”

“Do you want one?”

“ _No_ , Ash.”

Ash shrugged and sauntered back toward the kitchen.

“Is he okay?” Castiel asked, concerned. Sam laughed.

“Yeah, he’s fine. He’s just getting stoned out of his mind because he’s stressed about going to MIT.”

“He got into MIT? That’s incredible.”

“Yeah. Ellen’s trying to wean him off of marijuana first.”

“Nobody calls it ‘marijuana’.” Dean rolled up next to them, shaking his head disapprovingly. “It’s weed, Sam, christ.”

“Saying ‘weed’ is slang. Marijuana is--”

“Okay, that’s enough.” Dean patted his brother on the arm. “You tried being a cool kid. You failed.”

“Oh, shut up, Dean.” Sam rolled his eyes and flounced away.

“Did you meet everybody?”

“I… I think so. Who all is here?”

“Me, Bobby, Jody, Ellen, Ash, Jo, all of your family, uh.” Dean’s eyes searched the air in front of him. “I think that’s it?”

“Then, yes. I have met everybody.”

“Cool.” There was something in Dean’s voice. “Follow me. I’ll show you where the dining room is. And we can eat.”

“Dean?”

“What?”

Cas couldn’t find the right words. “Never mind.”

 

“Dean?”

Dean hand slowed on his wheel and he turned, slightly, toward Cas. “Yeah?”

“I know I messed up somehow and. I just want to know what I did wrong so I can apologize to you. Everybody says that Christmas is your favorite holiday and I feel like I ruined that for you and I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Cas.”

“Please don’t lie to me, Dean. Please.”

Something was boiling inside Dean. “I’m not lying. You did nothing wrong. I’m just a salty son of a bitch and I can’t let go of things.” He started moving toward his apartment again, but his movements were jerky and uncontrolled.

“Dean, stop.”

“Cas, just go home.”

“It was the mistletoe, wasn’t it?”

Dean stopped again. Forced himself to breathe. “Cas--”

“I’ve tried to tell my Gabriel and my brothers to lay off, but they continue to tease me mercilessly about how I feel about you and I did try to stop them, Dean, but I wasn’t able to get anything out before Gabriel--”

“Wait. Waitwaitwait.” Dean spun himself around and held up his hand. “How you _feel_ about me?”

Cas blinked. “Yeah.”

Dean didn’t know what inside him made him brave enough to speak again: “How do you feel about me?”

“I thought it was obvious, Dean.”

“Well, just assume I’m a clueless idiot, okay?”

Cas swallowed. “I...I’ve been...enamored...with you for quite some time, Dean.”

“Enamored,” Dean repeated, in disbelief.

“I’m sorry if this makes you uncomfortable, I--”

But Dean was already rolling forward and yanking Cas down and pressing his lips to Cas’s, and this all happens at once but it’s altogether glorious, and Dean can’t help but think just for the single moment his mouth is against Cas’s that everything is going to be okay.

And Cas’s lips were warm.

And Cas didn’t pull away.

Dean finally forced himself to break it off, and he watched Cas touch his swollen lips with a look of astonishment.

“You--”

“Cas, man, if you’d said something--”

“If _I’d_ said something? I thought my affections were pretty evident! You’re the closed-off one.” Those perfect lips pulled into a perfect pout. “If you’d said something, we could have avoided that entire mistletoe fiasco.”

“Oh, come on, man. Gabriel would’a pulled it out whether we did anything or not.   
You know how much of an absolute shit he is.”

Cas touched his mouth again. “You like me.”

 _I love you_. Dean couldn’t open his own mouth. That was too frightening a prospect to admit out loud.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because I don’t deserve you.” Of course this comes out and not the part that actually matters.

“Don’t deserve me? That’s nonsense.”

“Don’t tell me it’s nonsense, Cas. I know it’s true. You. You’re so perfect, okay? You’re” _beautiful_ “talented and smart and clever and” _beautiful_ “you’ve saved my life like a million times even though I’m the one who keeps putting my life in danger and you shouldn’t have to deal with me all the time, okay? I didn’t want to put you through that.”

“Dean Winchester,” Cas said seriously, reaching forward and grabbing Dean’s chin. It was kind of nice, being manhandled like that. Cas being forceful. A shiver went up Dean’s back before he could help it. “You are the most selfless man I know. You continually sacrifice your own health to protect the mentalities of your family and friends. It doesn’t work and you’re absolutely terrible at hiding how you’re actually doing, but the action alone is enough to deem you righteous.”

“I don’t get half of what you just said,” said Dean, who’d only been half-listening anyway.

“Be honest with me, Dean. Did you not pursue a relationship between us because you didn’t think yourself worthy of me or because you don’t think you’re worthy of happiness?”

“Cas, you _are_ happiness,” said Dean, once again before he could stop himself. Something passed across Cas’s face and Dean realized that with a proclamation like that, he was going to have to explain himself a little more, and he didn’t know if he could do that. After a while, he asked, “Do you want to come inside?”

“Dean--”

“Just to talk. I don’t want to do this out here.”

Cas hesitated. “Okay.”

Dean turned around again and twisted his key in the lock. “How long, Cas?”

“How long have I felt his way about you?”

“Uh...yeah.” Dean felt like his life was turning into one of those sappy romances Sam probably watched in his spare time.

“For a long time. I don’t know. Since the Roadhouse?”

“Since the _Roadhouse_? Like since the first time we went to the Roadhouse?”

“We’ve only gone twice, Dean. The first time and earlier today.”

“Huh, well.” Dean pushed open the door and rolled through. “I beat you.”

“You _beat_ me? I wasn’t aware this was a competition.”

“It’s a competition if I’m winning. And I am.”

Cas’s mouth twisted into a smile. “And how’s that?”

“Because I was--” Dean stopped. Did he really want to admit this out loud?

Fuck it. It wasn’t like Dean hadn’t already turned this entire day into a chick-flick.

“Man, I.” Nope. He couldn’t do it. Nopenopenope. Instead, he just waved an arm at the couch. “Have a seat. Do you want me to whip up something?”

“I don’t need anything.”

“Coffee?”

“If you’re making a pot.”

So Cas was one of _those_ people. Dean rolled his eyes. When they were living together, he’d better shape up or Dean was going to quit.

Whoa. When? Dean meant _if_.

“How do you want your coffee?”

“Black with one sugar. Thank you.” Cas sank into Dean’s couch, holding his trench coat in his lap. “I can make it, Dean.”

“It’s cool, man. I like being useful.” He wheeled into the kitchen and started up the coffee pot. HIs hand itched to grab his wheel again and go into the living room, to sit by Cas on that couch and kiss him again, because even after all of those trips that Cas took him on--even after the hospital, the ballet, the amusement park, kissing Cas made him happier than he’d ever been before. He’s just terrified to admit it because in no circumstance would he ever imagine he’d be brave enough to even admit his feelings for a guy. Not even a guy like Cas--just.  A guy. Dean tried so hard all his life to be this tough man and he never thought that he could be tough and have...well, have a boyfriend.

Not that Cas was his boyfriend. All Cas had said was that he liked Dean, not that he wanted to be, like, _involved_ with him or anything. Maybe he wanted a one-night stand or something. Maybe he just had the hots for him.

Another shiver went up Dean’s back, and he tried to suppress it as best he could as he poured coffee grounds onto the filter. This whole situation with Cas--well, it changed everything. Not just how they interacted with each other--hell, right after the kiss, they were interacting just like they had every time before, which was both awkward and comfortable at the same time--but also the way Dean interacted with family, the way Dean would spend his nights, replaying in his head that kiss and wishing he could taste more than that brief moment of Cas’s mouth rather than just wondering what it would be like not to be alone. But then he wasn’t really alone, was he? He had Cas. He’d had Cas for months, now. Cas had always been there when Dean most needed him. Somehow he’d always been there.

Because before, Dean had survived because he didn’t want to put everybody through the paperwork. He’d stayed alive because he felt bad about leaving. Then Sam was old enough to make it and Jo and Ash were about to graduate and he was pretty sure Bobby and Jody were about to marry sometime soon and Ellen had her hands full with the ever-popular Roadhouse and he had been ready to go because it felt like it was time so he just fucking dug that razor into his arm and then what seemed like only a second later his phone was ringing and then that cute guy from Sam’s school was on the other line and Dean accidentally spilled everything.

Now he stayed alive because he felt like maybe there was enough hope in the world for that. He thought maybe his life would get better than the shit-hole it’s in if he held on for a little longer. And it was all because of Cas. It was all because Dean felt a little better around Cas.

Which meant that Cas was continuously saving Dean’s life. He was going to owe him probably forever.

Dean poured the coffee, dropped sugar into Cas’s with a spoon, and put them both on a tray that he set on the handles of his wheelchair.

“Do you want some help?” Cas called out.

“Nah.” Dean wheeled into the living room and Cas took the tray from him and set it on the table. “Do you want to watch anything?”

“I thought you wanted to talk.”

“Dr. Sexy is on.”

Cas laughed. “Well, why didn’t you say so, then?” He stood and helped Dean move to the couch, then reached to get the remote. “But we will talk, right?”

“If you want. I’ve gotta warn you, though. I’m not very good at talking.”

“Neither am I, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“No, I.” Dean rubbed at his mouth. “I’m not good at expressing my feelings without downplaying them.”

“I know,” said Cas quietly, sipping at his coffee. “It’s okay. Just speak your mind.”

Right. Speak his mind. Dean had done that before. Of course, nothing this big was quite at risk. If he fucked this up, Cas might leave, and Dean wasn’t entirely sure how long he’d survive without him.

Which was pathetic but true. Dean needed Cas.

“Dean?” Cas was watching him, and Dean realized he’d spaced off again.

“Right,” he said. “Okay.” His gaze wandered to the television, where Dr. Sexy was passionately making out with some chick whose last appearance was in, like, the second season. Dean’s tongue traced his bottom lip. “You probably know this, Cas, but you’ve helped me a lot. And by a lot I mean I would probably be dead by now if it wasn’t for you, and not just because...not just because of those few times.” He probably didn’t need to specify exactly what he was talking about. “What I said? About you being happiness? You’re kind of it for me, man. You keep me going. I don’t know, with you around the world feels like a brighter place.” He lifted a finger. “And if you tell Sam any of this, I’m gonna kick your ass.”

“I won’t tell Sam anything you don’t want me to.”

“Good. Because I’m about this close to turning into a chick and--”

“Dean.”

“What?”

“Sharing your feelings doesn’t make you a ‘chick’.” Here he made air quotations with his fingers, which made Dean snort. “Neither does having feelings in the first place.”

Well, shit. Cas had him there. How did he know him so well? It had only been a few months since they’d met.

“Dean.” Cas was looking at the tv too, but his eyes were unfocused, so Dean could tell that he wasn’t really watching, either. “You’ve sacrificed so much and you’ve received little to nothing in return. You deserve to be happy. I just...I don’t think that you should depend on me to get that happiness.”

“It sounds like you’re breaking up with me,” joked Dean, who usually regretted most of what came out of his mouth.

“No, I just want to be clear that you can’t depend on me for that, Dean. I’m not always going to be around.”

It felt like Dean had just been shot. “Excuse me?”

“Well, Dean, I’m just a substitute. Eventually my cousin is going to come back and reclaim his job, which means I’ll be out of one.”

“Dude, no. You can just sub for other teachers at the school.”

“I only sub in history, Dean. I’m not very useful in other classes. And just a few jobs here and there...well, that isn’t even close to a living wage.”

“But you can’t _leave_.”

“I’m going to have to. There aren’t any openings at this high school or any of the surrounding colleges. I might...well, I might have to fly back to Chicago.”

No. No fucking way. This wasn’t happening. “So what you’re saying is I shouldn’t get attached because you’re probably going to be leaving soon.”

“In a manner of speaking, I suppose.”

Cas was being way too calm about this. “Well, I gotta break it to you, man, it’s too fucking late. I’m attached, okay? Especially after...after tonight. You can’t just leave me, man. Not now.”

“What do you expect me to do the, Dean? I need a job.”

“Get them to fire Zachariah, I don’t know. You deserve that job more that he does. Talk to the principal. The dude with the transformers name--Megatron.”

“Metatron,” Cas corrected quietly, smiling.

“Yeah! Talk to him! Raise hell until they give you the job!”

“That isn’t me, Dean. I’m afraid I’m not quite brave enough to ‘raise hell’.” More air quotations. Dean wanted to kiss those beautiful fingers and he hated himself for thinking it.

“Well, you can’t. You can’t.” Dean couldn’t get the words out. His chest and throat were tightening and it was getting harder to breathe and he couldn’t stop thinking about how he might have a world without Cas soon and--

“We can always talk,” Cas said gently. “Technology makes that more than possible.”

“It isn’t the same, Cas. You know that.”

“Yes. I know.” Cas was staring listlessly off into the distance again, looking almost sad. “I would offer for you to come with me, but I know you have a life here.”

“I would leave, though.” It frightened Dean how true this was.

“I know. That’s why I’m not going to offer. You shouldn’t have to leave behind everything just to be with me.”

“Be with you,” Dean repeated.

“My apologies. I had assumed--”

Dean grabbed Cas’s collar and pulled him toward himself, so close that his nose touched Cas’s and he could feel Cas’s breath on his skin. “I need you, Cas,” he whispered.

“Dean.” His name dropped from Castiel’s lips in a low rumble, sending goosebumps up Dean’s arms.

Their mouths crashed together.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for food, kidnapping, pda, death, car accidents, light emeto, probably something i'm forgetting just let me know if i miss something
> 
> okay so   
> a) i forgot about this fic tbh i've been so wrapped up in this spirk i've been writing and i'm so sorry  
> b) how long do i usually make chapters? this one is like 10,000 words long oops  
> c) in my defense I did give you like. two days in a row. so.  
> d) but also in your defense i update my spirk literally every day  
> e) my priorities have changed so much i'm really sorry  
> f) i'm still worried about some of you. where did you go? are you okay?

Castiel woke for the third time with his arms around Dean, but it was the first time he knew for sure that his touch was wanted. Last night was, well.

They’d kissed for a while. Dean was sure of these kisses if his eyes were closed, but open he was hesitant, still unsure of what was between them. And that was okay. Dean hadn’t known that people knew about his sexuality until recently, which was close enough to coming out, so hesitation was expected.

But his eyes closed and he went for it. And it was glorious.

It wasn’t like kissing Meg. Kissing Meg was nice but there was always something about it---Castiel had known from the beginning that he wasn’t going to stay with her, so the kisses seemed like empty promises, like temporary solutions. Kissing Dean was different. Castiel didn’t know what the future would be like with Dean--if this would last at all, or if it would crumble immediately; if they would have to break it off soon; if the entire time this was going on, Castiel would be careful to hide his affections in front of Dean’s friends and family; if, in the morning, Dean would open his eyes and shove himself away and it would all be over.

They’d kissed for a while on the couch, and then Castiel turned off Dr. Sexy and they clamored into Dean’s bed, kissing clumsily but eagerly. Nothing else had happened. After only a short couple minutes, they’d curled around each other and promptly gone to sleep.

“You awake, Cas?” Dean mumbled, pushing his shoulder into Castiel’s chest.

“Yes.” Castiel’s eyes closed and he wrapped his arm tighter around Dean’s waist. He felt the rumble of Dean’s laugh.

“Not ready to get up yet?”

“No,” Castiel grumbled, “Too early.”

“We still have to meet everybody at the Roadhouse for breakfast.” Dean nudged Castiel with his elbow. “Wake up, sleepyhead.”

Eyes still closed, Castiel pressed a kiss to the nape of Dean’s neck. “Do you really want to get up?” he murmured against his skin.

“Well, no. Not really. But they’d wonder.” 

Castiel gave his neck another lingering kiss.

“Are you always this affectionate?” Dean sounded amused.

“Only with you.” Gently, Castiel nipped at Dean’s skin. He couldn’t seem to stop touching Dean, to stop tasting him, to stop burying his nose in Dean’s hair and just  _ inhaling _ .

“Not with Meg?” Dean’s voice was very quiet.

“No. We weren’t ever going to last. I knew that, she knew that.”

“So why…”

“She was a distraction.” Another kiss. “From you.” 

“Ha. So you like me more than Meg.”

“Of course I like you more than Meg.” Another kiss. Another.

“Cas, Cas. We really need to get up.” Dean twisted around, meeting Castiel nose-to-nose. Castiel kissed his mouth, and Dean smiled against his lips. “Cas, seriously. We should get up. Also,” he added, when Castiel tried to kiss him again, “I have terrible morning breath.”

“I don’t mind,” said Castiel.

“I do.” Dean pecked Castiel on the nose and surged upward, swinging his leg off the bed and pulling his wheelchair toward himself in one fluid motion. “Do you want the shower first or what?”

“Go ahead. I’ll make us coffee and I can shower while you get ready.” Castiel pushed himself out of bed, too, and stretched. After a moment, he realized Dean was watching him. “What?”

Dean was smiling. “You’re wearing my pajama pants.”

“Well, I certainly wasn’t going to sleep in my suit.”

The smile got wider. “Yeah, but you didn’t bother putting on a shirt.”

Castiel looked down at his bare chest. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“I did.” Dean wheeled forward and put his hand on Castiel’s waist, thumb caressing his hipbone. Then he leaned closer and placed the softest of kisses on Castiel’s stomach. A shiver wracked Castiel’s body. “Hmm. Nice.” Grinning, Castiel pressed a returning kiss onto the top of Dean’s head.

“Go take your shower. Coffee will be ready when you get back.

“Cas…” Dean’s thumb was still caressing Castiel’s hipbone, and with each stroke the skin became more sensitive.

“Yes?” Castiel asked, barely more controlled than a gasp.

“Will you look into staying? I mean. I understand if you have to leave. I get it. But would you look into staying? For me?”

Castiel had already looked into staying. He’d scoured the schools in a forty-mile radius looking for a job, and other than the occasional substitution opportunity, there was no thing.

Castiel needed a job. An actual job. And as much as he hated it, he wasn’t going to get one here.

He smiled down at Dean. “I’ll try,” he said. “Now go.”

 

They drank their coffee in the car on the way to the Roadhouse. Dean was very skilled, Castiel noticed, at waterfalling his drink, even if the car was moving or if his hand was shaking. When Castiel tried sipping coffee in a moving car, he spilled it all over himself.

“I’ve had a lot of practice,” said Dean when Castiel mentioned it. “Plus I’ve figured out how to drink lying down. This is nothing.”

They arrived at the Roadhouse ten minutes late. Everybody was there--both Castiel’s family and Dean’s family. Ellen and Jo and Ash had taken most of the tables and lined them up, with two empty spots at the end closest to the door.

“Hey,” Sam greeted, jumping up. He was right next to one of the empty seats. “So I take it you guys aren’t fighting anymore?”

“We weren’t ever fighting,” Dean says indignantly. He accepted the hug Sam gave him, and Castiel did the same afterward.

“You rode with Cas? I was gonna pick you up.”

“I got your text after Cas already offered,” Dean said, shrugging. Castiel looked over at him, confused. There wasn’t any offer. Castiel had--

Oh. He just didn’t want anybody to know how things had progressed between them. He supposed that was understandable, though it stung a little that Dean would rush him to stay but wouldn’t admit how he felt to either of their families.

“Sit down,” Ellen called out from the far end of the room, through two metal swinging doors. “I got food started for both of you.”

“Don’t tell me you’re cooking, Ellen!” Dean shouted back. “It’s Christmas!”

Ellen’s head popped through those doors. “Not anymore,” she retorted. “Now sit your ass down.”

“I  _ am _ sitting down.” But Dean mumbled the words too low for Ellen to hear them. He wheeled himself into the empty spot next to Sam and Castiel took the last chair, quietly observing everybody around him.

Michael, Lucifer, and Gabriel had for some reason seated themselves together (every time they had done so in the past resulted in catastrophic disaster--and not just the normal family disaster; the last waiter had described it as “apocalyptic” and promptly quit) and were all teasing Jo mercilessly who, as Dean murmured to Castiel, “wasn’t taking any of their shit. She can handle herself, Cas.” Alfie and Bobby and Ash--a strange combination--had struck up a pretty passionate conversation together on the opposite end of the table. Anna and Jody--a pairing that made a little more sense but not much--were both engrossed in their own discussion. Then there was Sam, who seemed to be taking in all three conversations at once and keeping up with them all. Next to Castiel, Dean sat as silent as he was, smiling softly, eyes flitting between each group of people. Underneath the table, Castiel touched his hand.

“Are you happy?” he asked softly. Dean turned that smile to him.

“Happier than I’ve been in a long time,” he said. “Honest-to-god.” Then he hesitated, and Castiel saw both fear and resignation flash through Dean’s eyes. “Cas--”

“I won’t tell anybody what happened last night, Dean.”

Sam pounced, and Castiel felt Dean’s hand immediately draw back from under his. “What happened last night?”

“Nothing,” said Castiel calmly, taking his hand back too and dropping it into his lap.

“Well, clearly not nothing. What happened?”

“Drop it, Sam,” Dean said testily--Dean, who never said ‘Sam’ instead of ‘Sammy’ or ‘Samantha’ unless things were serious.

“Come on, Dean.” Sam prodded his brother’s side with both index fingers.

“Sam, seriously.” Dean lowered his voice. “I had a panic attack, okay?”

Castiel hid his smile. A panic attack, he’d said. And what were the symptoms of that? Flushed, heated skin, racing heartbeat. Castiel closed his eyes, remembering the feel of both against his hands as they kissed.

“Are you okay?”

“I said drop it, Sam.”

“Alright. Okay. If you say so. I can do that.” Sam combed his hair with his fingers. “What’s the plan for today?”

“Oh, we’re doing something together?”

“Yeah. You, me, and Cas.”

“Sorry, Sam. I was actually planning on spending the rest of today with my family. They’re leaving tomorrow.”

“Oh.” Sam’s shoulders slumped and so did, Castiel noticed, Dean’s. “Okay, well. What are  _ we  _ doing, Dean?”

“Today? We can play ‘Dean’s locked in his apartment so let’s see if Sam can get his way inside.’”

“ _ Dean _ . Come on.”

“Gabriel taught Sam yesterday how to pick a lock,” Castiel said. “I would not recommend that game.”

“Seriously? How come everybody knows how to pick a lock but me?”

“Just ask Gabriel. He’ll be happy to teach you.”

“I don’t want Gabriel to teach me,” Dean muttered. “I want you to teach me.”

Castiel felt the urge to kiss him again, but he pushed it down. Not in front of Dean’s family. Just. Not in front of Dean’s family.

“We can arrange that,” he said lightly, but before Dean could reply Ellen was bursting out of the kitchen, holding more trays than Castiel thought was possible for one person. 

“Ash! Jo!” She barked. “Come help me carry the food out!”

Both teenagers leaped up and ran toward the kitchen.

“Do you want any more help?” Castiel asked, concerned about the fear in their faces.

“No. Don’t help them.” Ellen dropped a plate of waffles in front of Castiel and nudged her hip toward him, offering a can of whipped cream and a jar of syrup. Castiel pulled them out. “You stay seated and we’ll take care of everything. You did a lot of baking yesterday so I’m doing all the cooking today.”

“If you say so,” said Castiel doubtfully. He spritzed the whipped cream onto his waffles as Ellen moved on, placing a plate in front of Dean, pancakes already cut into neat squares, then Sam, whose plate was chock-full of fruit. “She’s good at breakfast,” Castiel observed, watching her.

“Yeah. She’s to breakfast like I am to Christmas. She always knows what exactly you want. I have no idea how.”

“Speaking of Christmas,” Castiel said.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll spill my secrets to you. I promised you I would.” Dean checked his watch. “What are we doing for New Year’s?”

Dread filled Castiel’s chest. He tried to ignore it. “I don’t usually do anything,” he said. “Did you have something in mind?”

“I don’t know. Sam?”

“I’m going camping with Jess.”

Dean’s eyes widened. “You  _ what _ ? Is my little brother finally getting some action?”

Sam went red. “We’re not going out yet. We’re just friends.”

“ _ Just friends _ don’t go camping together.”

“Yes they do. What are you talking about?”

Dean wasn’t listening. “Sammy’s gonna get  _ laid _ !” he cheered. “Nice job!”

Castiel, smiling, shook his head.

“You were talking about your plans.” Sam ducked his own head and pushed his fruit around.

“Who cares? You’re gonna get laid!” Dean reached over and ruffled his brother’s hair until Sam pulled away.

“Seriously, Dean, come on.”

Dean, grinning, finally drew back. “I’m so proud of you man.  _ Anyway _ , Cas, what’re we doing? Do we have to hang out with Gabriel?”

“No. Gabriel will be flying back with everybody else to help plan the new company. They want him to be a partner too.” Castiel cut into his waffles, stacked one square with a strawberry, and popped it into his mouth. “I guess it’ll just be us. Unless you want to invite your family.”

“Who, Bobby and Jody and them? Nah. They’ll probably also go camping, which I am so not into. All camping grounds are bad grounds for me. Too many bumps.”

Castiel leaned toward him. “I could carry you,” he murmured, barely over his breath. “Princess-style.”

Dean’s fist hit Castiel’s thigh. “Shut up.” 

Sam looked between them, eyebrows drawing together. “What exactly is going on between you two?”

They looked back at him but provided no answer.

“Seriously. You guys are acting weird.”

“We’re planning a surprise party,” said Castiel.

“Seriously? For who?”

“He was kidding, Samantha, god.” Dean shook his head. “There isn’t any surprise party.”

“So what’s going on, then?”

“We are literally acting the same way we always have.”

“You are not. You’re acting weird.”

“What’s weird about how we’re acting?”

Sam paused and scratched at his chin. “Uh. I don’t know. You just seem different. Right, guys?”

Castiel hadn’t noticed that everybody had turned toward them, all intently watching. Sam got a chorus of ‘yes’s in response to his question.

“Okay but  _ how _ ,” Dean said. “Come on. I want to know how we’re acting weird. Because you all seem to think so.”

“I got it!” Jo put orange juice in front of the three of them and beamed. “Dean’s been smiling the entire time he’s been here. And not one of those fake smiles he thinks we buy.”

“I have never once faked a smile.”

“Bullshit,” said Jo.

“Language,” Ellen admonished. She swatted her daughter and shook her head. “It’s you Winchester boys, you know.”

“Really.” Dean laughed. “Not Bobby or Ash? Or  _ Jody _ ? It’s us.”

“Have you heard yourself speak.”

“I never  _ ever  _ swear.”

“You are full of lies, Dean Winchester.” Jo kissed the top of his head and then ruffled his hair, like she was rubbing the kiss in. “How’s breakfast?”

“Delicious. Thanks.”

“It’s my special pancake recipe.”

“ _ My  _ special pancake recipe,” corrected Ellen.

“I had input. It’s totally mine.” She ducked when Ellen tried to swat her again.

“Jo, get back here!” Gabriel hollered.

“What are you all doing over there?” Dean leaned forward curiously, probably trying to see what Gabriel, Lucifer, and Michael were up to.

“Oh, I’m just giving them shit.”

“ _ You’re  _ giving  _ them _ shit?”

“Oh, come on, Dean. They’re so easy to mess with.”

“I admire your ability to hold your own against them,” Castiel told her, delicately biting into one of the whole strawberries Ellen had used to decorate the plate with. “I’ve been dealing with them for my entire life and never once have they been ‘easy to mess with’.”

“You kidding? I love them.”

“I’ll have to give them a talking to,” said Dean, looking worried.

“No, don’t do that. Come on, Dean. I’m not  _ flirting _ with them. I’m fucking with them. Besides,” she added with a sniff, “They’re old.”

“That’s true,” Castiel said. “Also, Luci is married. And I’m pretty sure Michael is hiding a partner somewhere.”

“I didn’t hear about this.”

“Me neither.” Jo dropped onto Dean’s lap and cupped her chin with her hands. “Gimme all the hot gossip.”

“Well.” Castiel glanced over at his brothers and cousin to make sure they couldn’t hear him before he continued. “I found out from an answer to an offhand question I asked that Luci met Ruby while he was in jail, and when he got out, they eloped. I don’t really know anything about her. None of us do. She didn’t want to come down to visit the family, which is entirely understandable.”

“Your family that bad?” Sam asked.

“Yes. Family gatherings outside the people here are a nightmare.”

“What about Michael?”

“I’m not entirely sure about that, Jo, but I have my suspicions. Just...comments here and there. I don’t know.”

“You said partner. Is Michael…?”

“He’s had a boyfriend here and there, but he’s had just as many girlfriends. People in my family aren’t very particular.”

“That’s so cool. The Winchesters aren’t straight, either.” She poked Dean in his ribs.

“Seriously, man, does everybody know?”

Jo rolled her eyes. “Dean, it is so painfully obvious. We just didn’t want to say anything until you were ready.”

“I didn’t even know until--” Dean stopped. Castiel tilted his head, waiting for him to continue.

 

_ Until I met Cas _ .

But Dean doesn’t say it. He  _ can’t  _ say it. Nobody can know what happened last night. 

“Until?” Jo prompted.

“I don’t know. Until a few months ago. How long have you known?”

“I’ve known that Dean Winchester liked guys more than girls since I met him.” Jo kissed the top of his head again, and Dean couldn’t help but wish her mouth was Cas’s. 

“Not  _ more _ ,” said Dean, who was still getting used to the idea that apparently everybody on the entire fucking planet knew--which meant that they might also know he liked Cas.  _ Fuck _ .

“No, Dean, you totally like guys more. You check them out more than  _ I _ do.”

Dean eyes, against his will, flitted to Cas, who was watching this exchange with this infuriating small smile on his face. Dean wanted to kiss that smirk off.

See? This was his problem. Wanting to kiss Cas 24/7. This was his issue. If he could just get rid of that, he would be fine. 

“No,” he said, but it had been too long and his emphasis was weak at best. 

“Whatever,” Jo said. “Cas? You knew about Dean, right?”

“I’m not very observant,” said Cas, which was a total non-answer.

“But you’ve, like, replaced my best-friend status in Dean’s life.”

Dean almost corrected her on this but ultimately realized she was right. Cas  _ was _ his best friend. He barely even talked to Jo now and Cas…

_ I do feel we share a more profound bond _ .

Dean laughed under his breath and shook his head.

“I don’t think so,” said Cas.

“No, you totally have. Sorry, Jo.”

“I’m cool with it. Just as long as you,” she said, poking Cas now, “Make sure he shows up every now and then.”

“I’ll do my best,” said Cas seriously.

“Go back to your seat, Jo.” Dean pushed her of himself.

“Okay, okay, whatever.” She raised her hands in surrender and sauntered away.

“I didn’t know I was your best friend,” Cas told Dean quietly. “You never told me.”

With this conversation starter, Sam leaned toward them with great interest, and Dean grabbed his forehead and pushed him away. “Piss off, Sasquatch.”

“I’m just trying to figure out when my history teacher became your best friend, Dean.”

“Piss  _ off _ , Sam.”

Sam huffed. “You never talk to me anymore.”

Anymore? Dean never talked to him. Not about his feelings or anything like that. His job was to look as tough as possible to Sammy, because first he had to pretend that what John did didn’t hurt, and then he had to pretend that being stuck in a wheelchair didn’t hurt, and then he had to pretend that what Azazel did didn’t hurt. If Dean had ever told the truth to his little brother, Sam wouldn’t be where he is now.

“You’re right,” said Dean. “I don’t.”

“You didn’t even tell me how bad you were.” Sam’s voice was very, very quiet. Dean tried to push it off good-naturedly.

“Oh, come on, Sammy. That would ruin the whole point.”

“That isn’t funny, Dean.” Sam looked upset, now. “And then you didn’t tell me  _ anything _ about what happened.”

“Can we not talk about this now? I’m trying to have a conversation with Cas, here.”

“When are we supposed to talk about it? Because you never try to see me anymore. The only time you do is when Cas is with you, and I’m pretty sure he’s just dragging you along. Right, Cas?”

Cas didn’t look like he wanted to be caught in the middle of this. “Um, I--”

“Don’t get involved, Cas.” Dean patted his leg under the table, where Sam couldn’t see. “Whatever you say will make one of us mad so you might as well just not.” He gave Cas’s thigh a gentle squeeze and hoped Cas would understand that he didn’t want to hurt Cas’s feelings or something. “Sam, don’t bring him into this. I was fucked up, okay? And sometimes--always, with me--part of being fucked up is that you don’t reach out for help. It has nothing do with you.”

“I’m your  _ brother _ ,” Sam said. “We went through hell together. We’re supposed to be able to talk.”

They went through hell together. Right. The entire reason Dean went through hell in the first place was to protect Sam from having to go. That’s why he always shielded Sam with John. That’s why he shut his mouth when he found out he was paralyzed and immediately wanted to jump out a window. That’s why, when Azazel was playing his sick games, Dean took it. Because putting Sam through any of that would mean shoving him in hell too, and Dean would never do that to his brother.

“You went through hell?” Dean spoke barely above a whisper. “I did what I did to protect you from hell, Sam.”

Something passed over Sam’s face. “I never asked you to protect me.”

“No, Sam, but mom did. From the very beginning. Protect your little brother. And I’m not going to let her down. Plus, you’ve got so much more potential than I do. You deserve a clean slate.”

“Dean, you let Dad hit you. How is that protecting me? You know how many nightmares I had that one day dad would hit you so hard that you wouldn’t be able to get up again? Do you know how many times I woke up, afraid that you were dead in the next room?”

“It’s better than letting Dad hit  _ you _ , Sam.” Dean sought for Cas’s hand and received a comforting grip in response. “I mean, come on, Sammy. I wasn’t going to just stand by while you two were fighting. It’s my job to protect you. It’s  _ always  _ been my job to protect you.”

“Are you still protecting me?”

Dean shut his mouth.

“Dean, what aren’t you telling me? Because keeping me in the dark isn’t protecting me, Dean. I’m old enough to handle whatever you throw at me.”

He hesitated. He was going to tell him. Eventually. But not until more paperwork was taken care of. “I was going to tell you,” he said slowly.

“ _ What _ , Dean?”

“Not here.” Dean grabbed his wheel and rolled out from under the table. “Let’s go into the other room. Cas?”

Cas looked up. He’d finished his waffles a couple minutes ago and had been shifting nervously ever since Sam and Dean’s conversation got more intense. “Yes, Dean?”

“You can come with us.”

“Are you sure?”

_ Please _ , Dean mouthed, and Cas nodded and stood.

They all moved to the back room. It was quiet. Dean hadn’t ever been in here while it was empty before, and it was a little weird but that wasn’t really the most important thing at the moment.

“What’s going on, Dean?” Sam asked, grabbing one of the chairs from where it was stacked on the table.

“It’s about Azazel. Alastair. He, uh.” Dean swallowed. “Luci and I thought it was weird that Mom would leave us to him, especially since we’d never met or heard of him before, so Luci did some poking around.”

Sam tensed. “And?”

“We found her will thing. At first nothing seemed wrong with it, but then I did some digging of my own. Found some letters mom wrote to Dad before they got married. Sam…”

“Spit it out, Dean.”

“The signatures don’t match. It’s subtle, but it’s off.”

Sam looked like he was about to throw up.

“Luci and I think that he might have forged her signature to get custody of us.”

“So...so…” Sam gasped for breath, and Cas went to squeeze both his shoulders. It helped Sam catch his breath right away. Relatable. “So we were, what? Kidnapped, basically? Why did he want us? Why go through all the trouble?”

“I don’t know, Sam, but we also don’t have any proof, you know? Luci’s going to talk to him tomorrow and try to weed anything out of him, but we aren’t really very hopeful.”

“So the whole getting released from custody thing,” Sam said slowly. “Is that off?”

“Sam, we can still get you released, and we should do that as soon as possible. It’s just.” Dean shook his head. “Azazel may have kidnapped us and nobody’s really sure what he’s planning.”

“Why didn’t Luci say anything?” This was the first time Cas had spoken up since they left the main room. “This is the first I’m hearing about this.”

“I talked to Luci about it when we were discussing the exact terms of Luci’s, uh, persuasion tactics. We only found the will a couple days ago, though.”

“What about Dad’s will?” Dean had expected Sam to throw a fit that he didn’t tell him until now, but instead he was just starting to grasp at straws--anything to get him out of this situation. 

“Sammy, you know Dad didn’t have a will. He thought he was invincible, you know? The alcohol didn’t kill him, the stress of constantly moving around didn’t kill him, the fights didn’t kill him. He thought he was gonna live forever. Besides,” Dean added, scrubbing at his eyes, “All he really had was the Impala. Which people collectively decided should go to me since I was the one who got fucked up in it. And now it’s yours.” He reached forward and grabbed Sam’s wrist. “We’ll figure this out, Sammy. Luci’s gonna go talk to Azazel and threaten him enough to let you stay with Bobby or Ellen or somebody, okay?”

“Have you talked to Jody?”

“Jody? Why?”

“She used to be part of the sheriff’s department, right? So she has to have connections.”

“I didn’t want to get her involved just yet.”

“He can be arrested under suspicious circumstances,” Sam insisted. “That one time we got to see the will, Dean, I read it. And nobody but Azazel directly benefits from it. That’s enough for reasonable doubt, right?”

Dean stared at him. “You sound like a lawyer.”

Sam just continued like Dean didn’t speak at all: “If we show her the will and show her that Mom’s signature was forged and that the only person who could have possibly benefited from Mom’s will being like that, she could call somebody up and they can legally separate us and keep an eye on him until there’s further investigation.”

“None of this makes sense to me,” said Dean, “But if you want to talk to Jody, sure. What about Luci? Are we still involving him?”

Sam’s gaze shifted to the doors they had just entered through and a smile slowly spread across his face. The only word Dean could think to describe it was sly. “If Luci thinks he can get Azazel to cough up information, why not?” He strode toward the doors, shooting a grin behind him as he pushed through. Dean looked over at Cas, bewildered.

“What just happened?”

“Your brother is growing up.” Cas came over to Dean and bent down, pressing a kiss to his jawline. Dean knew he loved Cas since yesterday morning, but the fact that Cas was super affectionate honestly just made it better. Dean loved affectionate. He loved knowing he was cared about. After the years of pain he went through, gentle kisses now almost erased the memories of the bruises. Especially when it was Cas pressing those kisses onto him. “Hey.” Cas took Dean’s jaw then with his long fingers and tilted Dean’s head upward. “This will work out. You know that, right? We both have enough connections to get Sam through this.” Then he leaned down again and kissed Dean’s mouth. Reluctantly, Dean rolled a little backward.

“They’re gonna see, Cas.”

“Right.” There was something in Cas’s voice, but it cleared as he continued talking. “You’re right. We should get back out there before they get suspicious.” Cas took the handlebars of Dean’s chair. “May I push you out? You look exhausted.”

“Uh. Sure.” 

As they exited the room and approached the table again, Cas asked, “Have you ever considered getting one of those motorized chairs? It would certainly be easier on your arm.”

“Yeah, Sam and I talked about it. But it’s super expensive and I don’t really get out much anyway.”

“Maybe we could talk about it again.” Cas pushed Dean into his spot and then took the seat next to him. “You’re getting out more again and now that you don’t have to pay for college, you could save up.” 

Dean looked down at his lap, at his half-useless body. A motorized chair really would be nice, but...“I don’t know,” he said.

“Why not?”

“I just. It seems like a waste, you know?”

“It’s a waste to make you more comfortable? You don’t always have to be so selfless, Dean.”

Fuck. Every time Cas spoke, Dean felt a little better. Sure, Jo and Sam and Ellen and Jody and--well, Bobby never spoke about his feelings or anybody else’s, but it was implied--had all said the exact same thing, but for some reason it just. It made more sense when Cas said it. And part of Dean hated it, because like it or not Dean was never going to just accept happiness. He forced that part of himself to lower his voice, forced that part to shut up a moment so he could speak: “You know,” he whispered to Cas, “If I move in with you, I wouldn’t pay nearly as much rent.”

Cas beamed. Dean loved that gummy smile. “You’re getting better at this, Dean.”

“I have a few more days to think of myself as half-useful instead of half-useless, so I’m making the most of it.”

“You really want to move in?”

“Well, if I move in, you’ll have to stay, you know.”

That gummy smile faltered. “I told you, Dean. I’ll look again. I don’t know if I’ll have any luck, but I’ll look.”

“Well, until then.” Dean leaned back in his chair and smiled. “Until then we can make the most of it, right?”

“Right.”

 

They split up after breakfast. Cas hopped in this giant-ass van with his brothers and cousin and drove off to who knows where. Bobby and Jody got in their own car to go to something Dean probably didn’t want to think about, and Ellen and Ash and Jo stayed to clean up, much to Jo’s chagrin.

Chagrin. Dean wouldn’t have ever used that word if he hadn’t met Cas. He still wasn’t entirely sure he was using it correctly, but he was impressed with himself all the same.

He and Sam, after bugging Jo for another half hour, went outside to the Impala. Dean faltered for a moment, and Sam grasped his shoulder.

“Are you okay? We can walk, if you want. Or I can run to the house and grab the truck. It isn’t really a problem--”

“No. I can.” Dean took a deep breath. “I took a test drive with the guy who fixed her just to make sure she was running as smoothly as she did before the accident. I had my panic attack then. I can deal right now.”

Sam stared at him.

“Sam, I said I can deal with it. Let’s just get in and get it over with. Where are we going?”

“Dean,” Sam said.

“Seriously, Sam. Where are we going? Because you were super pumped about doing something with me but it seems to me like you have absolutely no plan.” Dean started wheeling toward the Impala, shaking his head. 

“The accident.”

“What?”

“The accident,” said Sam, louder this time.

“What about it?”

“You said it. And then I said it. Twice. And nothing happened.” 

Holy shit.

“Holy shit,” said Dean. “I didn’t flip out. I’m okay.”

Sam’s grin was huge. “You’re getting better.”

“I guess so.”

“Let’s get in the Impala and let’s go do something  _ crazy _ ,” Dean said. “Let’s just. Let’s just go wild.”

“Uh.” Sam grabbed Dean’s wheelchair and pushed them toward the Impala. “I don’t think we’re quite ready for crazy but we can certainly do something a little more exciting than ‘let’s see if Sam can get into the apartment’.” As they climbed in, Sam said, “I wonder what happened for you to get better.”

They pulled out of the parking lot, and neither one of them provided an answer to the question, though they both knew what it was.

 

“Where are we going?” Castiel had somehow found himself in the very back seat, squashed between Anna and Gabriel. Lucifer was in the driver’s seat with Michael sitting shotgun and Alfie between them. The van was huge but there was only two rows, which Castiel found very strange. Why did the trunk have to be so large?

“I thought we’d go to the amusement park,” said Luci. “I invited Charlie. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Charlie?” Castiel frowned. “Charlie Bradbury?”

“How many Charlies do you know?” Michael looked at him through the rearview mirror, raising one eyebrow.

“I just. How do you know Charlie?”

“She contacted us a while ago when she was in Chicago. Said she had no idea you had such a big family, wanted to meet us all.” Gabriel shrugged. “We all adored her so we said we’d meet up with her when we came down here.”

“That’s...what was she doing in Chicago?” 

“I don’t know. Visiting family, I think.” Gabriel shrugged and kicked the back of Michael’s seat. “Mikey, what was she doing in Chicago?”

“I don’t know. And don’t call me Mikey.”

“I think,” said Luci, “That she was visiting her mother. But I could be wrong.”

“Could be,” said Michael. “I mean, you usually are.”

“Don’t argue around Alfie,” Anna said, finally speaking up for the first time since climbing in the van. “He gets stressed out if he’s surrounded by arguments.”

“How do you survive family dinners, man?” Luci clucked sympathetically. “Oh, Cassie.”

“Yes?”

“I don’t know if you wanted me to, but I noticed you didn’t bring your coat with you.”

“Oh. Yes.” Castiel looked down. “I left it at…”  _ Dean’s _ . “My place.” 

“Really?” Gabriel’s voice was casual. Too casual.

“Yes,” said Castiel cautiously.

“Huh. Weird. I stopped by your place and you weren’t there.”

The van went silent. Castiel could almost hear his heart racing. “You know I don’t sleep well,” he said.

“So you left your apartment?”

“Yes.” Castiel’s tone grew icy. “I was unaware this was an interrogation.”

“Sorry, Cassie. I was just concerned.” He patted Castiel’s leg. “You know how worried I get about you.” 

“Yes. But you’ve never questioned me like this before.” Castiel could feel himself getting audibly upset and he tried to get himself to stop, but he couldn’t quite do it.

“Cassie, seriously, I am sorry. I didn’t mean to freak you out.”

Castiel rubbed his palms on his pant leg once, twice, three times. A fourth time.

“Pull over,” said Gabriel.

“What?” Luci looked at them through the mirror.

“Pull. Over. Now.”

Luci pulled the van over and Gabriel yanked open the door, pulling both himself and Castiel out onto the grass.

“What’s going on?” Castiel could hear Alfie getting worried, but his younger brother’s voice was soon drowned out his quickened breathing.

“Here. Here, Cassie.” Gabriel pressed a cell phone into his hands. “Take this. I’ll wait in the car for you. I’ll even let you have the window seat afterward. I’m so sorry.”

Castiel, shaking, held the phone to his ear. It rang once, twice.

“Oh my fucking god, Gabriel, what do you--” Dean stopped. “Cas?”

“I’m sorry, I--”

“No, Cas, what’s going on?”

“Gabriel stopped by my apartment last night.”

“Oh. Fuck.”

“It’s very difficult to keep secrets from my family, Dean, especially when they are so observant. I need to know why, Dean. Why we’re a secret. I understand if you don’t want Sam or Bobby or Ellen or Jody or Jo or Ash to know but my family, Dean. Do you understand how my family works? Because we keep secrets for a living, Dean. We keep secrets from everybody but each other. That’s how it always has been and that’s how it always will be. I don’t understand why you’re fine with being out but not fine with admitting you’re with me but--” Castiel broke off, trying to catch his breath.

“What even does your family  _ do _ ?” Dean asked. “Because you’ve never explained it.”

“That isn’t the  _ point _ , Dean.”

“Sorry. Just tell ‘em, Cas.”

“I--what?”

“Tell ‘em,” Dean said. “Cas, you’re right. There isn’t any reason you shouldn’t tell them. Just make sure they don’t mention it.”

“This doesn’t seem very you. I was expecting an argument.”

“Well, Cas, you bring out the worst in me.” Dean laughed, and Castiel hoped he was joking. “I’m sorry I made you so upset about all of this.”

“You. You do genuinely still like me, right?” Castiel was afraid for the answer.

“Yeah, Cas. Of course I do. I just. I’m not ready for Sam to know yet. Or anybody else.”

“Why not?”

“I’m just not, Cas, okay? Please just let me keep this to myself for a little longer. You can tell your family. You can do that. But I’m not going to tell mine yet.”

“If that’s what you want.”

“Cas, I--”

“Yes?” Castiel held his breath.

“Nothing. Just. Take care of yourself, okay? Call me if you need anything else.”

“Thank you.” Castiel hung up, stared down at the phone. What was Dean about to say? Because Castiel was close to--

_ I love you _ .

He shook his head and went back to the van, pulled open the door.

“Feeling better?” Gabriel asked.

“I kissed Dean.”

Everybody in the van stared at him for a good long minute. Then Luci said, “Say what?”

“I kissed Dean. Or, rather, he kissed me. And I don’t know what exactly is between us but I think we’re together and he says he liked me and I wasn’t at my apartment last night I was with him. We slept together. We didn’t sleep together. We just slept in the same bed.”

More silence.

“Good for you,” said Michael.

“About damn time,” said Luci.

“So...he isn’t single anymore,” said Anna.

“Why didn’t you fuck him?”

“Gabriel,” Michael hissed.

“Sorry. I was just wondering.”

“Dean doesn’t want anybody to know,” Castiel said, “But he said I could tell you because he understands how I feel about keeping secrets from you all. Just one kills me.”

“You’re keeping a secret from us?” Gabriel asked, leaning forward.

“Now isn’t the time, Gabriel,” said Michael. “Cas, we’re really happy for you, okay? And if you ever need to talk to anybody about what’s going on, you can talk to us. You know that.”

“I wouldn’t recommend talking to Gabriel,” said Luci, “Or Alfie or Anna. But Michael and I are ready to go.”

“Thank you. And you won’t tell?”

“Our lips are sealed,” said Gabriel. He reached over and grasped Castiel’s hand. “You know we love you, Cassie.”

“I know.” 

“And we’re really glad you told us. And we’re really happy that you finally got your shit together. We’ve been waiting for you to get together for, like, ever.” 

“Forever,” Castiel repeats. He closes the van door and puts his hands in his lap. Everybody is still looking at him.

“Well, like we said,” said Luci, “You guys are really cute. And, well, we think you’re better together. That you make each other better.”

“Thank you.”

“Ready to go the amusement park and have some fun?” Luci started the van again and grinned through the mirror. “Because I am one hundred percent ready to puke up everything that I just ate.”

Gabriel kicked the back of his chair. “That’s disgusting. Anybody want candy?”

 

“Nice to see you again, Cas!” Charlie greeted Castiel with a tight hug. “And family! Nice! What are you all doing here?”

“Yesterday was Christmas?” Gabriel seemed genuinely confused.

“Oh! Right. My bad.” She hid her blush with a wave of her hand. “I don’t really celebrate Christmas. Nobody to give presents to, you know? Aw! Alife!” She wrapped Castiel’s younger brother in his own hug, lifting him off the ground for several seconds. “I missed you the most, kiddo.”

“Excuse you,” said all of Castiel’s family at once.

“Sorry, guys, but have you  _ seen _ your baby brother? He’s so cute. I mean, of course Cas is my favorite, but come on. It’s Alfie.”

Now Alfie was blushing. He ducked his head and rubbed a hand through his hair.

“Tell me, Alfie.” Charlie knelt beside him and grabbed both sides of his face. “Have you asked out your homeboy yet? Inias?”

“Uh...no.”

“Come on, man. We talked about this. Fist bump?” She held up her fist, Alfie bumped it, and Charlie stood back up. “Where’s Dean? Did you not bring him along this time?”

Luci, Gabriel, and Michael all grinned. Charlie looked between them.

“What is that for? What happened?” She gasped aloud. “Are you and Dean going out? Because you were being really really cute and really really gay at the amusement park last time you came but you said you weren’t a thing but I took pictures of you anyway and I printed them out? And I got some prizes for them at the fair when I showed them. I hope you don’t mind, but you can’t see your faces anyway so I mean? There isn’t really any way to identify you but oh my  _ god _ it was really super cute and I can’t believe you guys are together now!” She said this all in one breath, leaving everybody mystified as to how she wasn’t red in the face and/or on the floor wheezing.

“We...aren’t together,” said Castiel slowly.

“Oh no! I’m so sorry. I could tell you really really liked him and I’m sorry that I said all of that stuff before you even said anything I mean that was really inconsiderate of me--”

“He’s with Sam. I told him I was going to spend today with my family.”

“You should totally invite him along. Here. I brought you a present.” She dug into her bag and pulled out a picture. Castiel’s family gathered around him as he took it. The picture was of him and Dean, at the amusement park the last time Castiel had been here. He was kneeling in front of Dean’s wheelchair, holding both of his hands, and looking into Dean’s eyes. Dean’s face was frustrated and upset, but there was a small smile curling at his lips. Charlie had captured the exact moment Dean had given in to trying to have fun.

“That,” said Luci, “Is the cutest fucking thing that I have ever seen in my entire fucking life. Holy shit.”

Michael, dutifully, covered Alfie’s ears, but he was smiling. “How long ago was that?”

“I don’t know. A few weeks ago.” Castiel touched the picture. “Thank you, Charlie.”

“No problem, man. Now.” She hooked an arm through Gabriel’s and grinned. “You ready to get sick? Or do you want to invite Dean and we can wait for him?”

“He’s probably busy,” said Castiel. “We can just go.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to call him?” Charlie asked. She raised her eyebrows, leaned toward him. “Are you together or what?”

“What,” said Castiel. “And yes, I’m sure. I don’t want to bother him anymore. He deserves a break from me for a day.”

A smile slowly spread across her face. “Okay,” she said, dragging out the word. “Let me know when you want to be honest, yeah? Now let’s go get fucked up.” 

Alfie went with Michael, as they both liked the spinning teacups for some reason, and Luci and Gabriel and Castiel and Anna went with Charlie first to the swings, then to the bumper cars. Charlie couldn’t help but wish that Dean was there with him, driving far better than Castiel probably ever will drive, passing everybody and screaming curses as he went.

“Cas?” Charlie touched his arm. “You okay?” 

“I’m just thinking.”

“About Dean?” 

“Yes.” Castiel didn’t find the need to lie.

“So you really are together?”

“No.” 

She squinted at him as she pulled her hair into a ponytail. “But you’re not gonna deny that you’re gay for him.” 

“No.” 

“Nice. Have you made your move?”

“You are incredibly involved in my family’s love lives.”

“Your family is incredibly interesting,” Charlie said, shrugging. “Have you met Ruby?”

“You know about  _ Ruby _ ? We didn’t even know about Ruby until we asked him about it.”

Charlie shrugged again. “Your family keeps in touch. Unlike  _ somebody  _ I know.”

“I’m going to assume you’re talking about me.”

She dropped her head onto his shoulder and hugged his arm. “I miss you, Cas. I love talking to your family but you know you’re my favorite. We should get together sometime. I can bring Dorothy and you can bring Dean.” She squeezed his arm suddenly, making Castiel wince. “Oh my god! And we can play D&D! How appropriate would that be? Dorothy and Dean and Dungeons and Dragons? How perfect is that?”

“That sounds nice, Charlie. Dean and I need to make some decisions before then, though.”

“Do you have his number? I want to bug him.”

Castiel looked at her warily. “Charlie…”

“Okay, not  _ bug _ him bug him. He seems cool. I want to see if I can get him back into LARPing.”

“Wait until the New Year’s and then ask me again.”

“New Years? Why?” 

“I’m not at liberty to disclose that information.”

Charlie started laughing. “Okay.”

“Charlie.”

“Yeah?”

“Michael. Has he said anything? About having a partner?”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I’ve had my suspicions for a while that he has a partner he isn’t telling us about. Novaks have never been very good with sharing information. When it comes to secrets, that’s an excellent thing. When it comes to any personal information, well.” 

“Must make for good relationships,” Charlie said sympathetically.

“No, no, our relationships are totally fine. We aren’t afraid to tell each other how we feel, but our lives are all pretty private. I know next to nothing about Luci’s life after he got out of prison. Whatever he and Gabriel and Michael are doing with the new company is an absolute mystery. They haven’t told me anything about that. Alfie’s told me about Inias and that he’s doing well in school, but not much else. And, well. You know Anna. She thinks it’s a competition to see how little she can tell us.”

“You should fix that sometime. Really. Lets your soul breathe, you know?”

“Do you have anybody to talk to?”

Charlie gave a little smile and shrugged. “Oh, you know me. I have nothing to say.”

“You can talk to me, Charlie. If you want.”

“Yeah. Thanks, Cas.” She released him and patted his arm once. “Let’s say we go back to making ourselves sick, huh?”

“You said that earlier. Unfortunately for you, the Novak-Milton family has always been incredibly fast at healing.” He gestured to Luci and Michael, who were wrestling on the ground for some reason, with Gabriel cheering them on and Anna rolling her eyes beside them. “We may be destructive, but we have never reached a point of nausea.” 

“Ugh. You’re all so perfect.”

Castiel snorted. “You haven’t met the rest of my family.”

“Thank god.” Charlie pecked his cheek. “Okay, then. Let’s get me sick.”

 

“What’d you do after that?”

“We, uh. We went to visit Crowley. Apparently he has a whole cabinet full of liquor, which Luci and Gabriel had no problem guzzling. Michael had a glass or two, we gave Anna a sip, Alfie stuck with sparkling cider.”

“Yeah? How did Crowley get along with everybody?”

“I don’t think they liked each other very much. It was a very grudging alliance. Crowley pulled me aside afterward and told me he only stuck through the whole thing because of me. And because he found Luci ‘devastatingly charming’.”

Dean started laughing. He wheeled to his bed, balanced on his one foot, and then dropped onto the mattress. “That’s incredible. You had fun?”

“Yes. I had an incredible amount of fun. What about you? What did you do?”

“Uh. Sam almost took me mini golfing? But then we realized that that would be an absolute terrible idea. Oh!” He put the phone on speaker and dropped it next to his head. “I forgot to tell you! I said ‘the accident’ and didn’t freak at all!”

“Really? That’s incredible. I’m very proud of you, Dean.”

That may or may not have given Dean warm fuzzies in his chest area. “Yeah, man, and it was totally on accident, too. It just slipped out. I didn’t even notice until Sam said something.”

“What did you do after that?”

“Well, the mini golfing fiasco, but then we went and saw a movie. It was a horror movie. With clowns. Sam screamed like fifty times per minute. It was hilarious. You should have been there.”

“You enjoy horror movies?”

“Yeah, totally. They’re wicked. I love to suffer. We should go see one together some time.”

“Oh, I…” Dean could hear Cas hesitating on the other line. “I don’t know if I’ll enjoy that.”

“It’s okay, man. You can hold my hand if you get scared.” Dean hid his mouth as he said this, as if it made what he just said less...whatever they were. Cas laughed a little.

“Then I’ll be sure to take you up on your offer. You did, after all, go to the ballet with me.”

“Hey, man. That actually wasn’t that bad. I’m just happy you enjoyed yourself.”

“Dean, you know you also tend to be very affectionate, you know that?”

“I do not.”

“Yes, you do. We’ve been on the phone for two hours and you’ve made an offer of affection at least every five minutes. For example, holding my hand in the movie theater. I hope you know I’m going to take you up on all of those offers.”

Dean hid his smile, too. “Looking forward to it. Hey, Cas.”

“Yes?” 

“Wanna come over? ‘Cause, I mean. I could make us something to eat and we can hang out or whatever.” 

“I would enjoy that, Dean. But are you sure you want me over? We’ve been together twenty-four seven for the past few days and I’m sure you’ll want a break from me.”

“Nah. I like hanging around you.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” 

“So you coming over or what?”

“Sure. I’ll come over. I just need to pack a bag.”

“Ooh. Packing a bag. Fancy.” Dean’s voice lowered. “Want me to clear out a drawer for you?”

“Shouldn’t I clear out one for you? As you might be moving into my apartment?”

A little shock went up Dean’s back. “We can both have our own drawer at each other’s apartments until I move in, how’s that?”

“Sounds good to me.”

Dean waited a moment. “Cas.”

“Yes?”

“Are you on your way yet?”

“No. I’m still packing.”

“Dude, what all are you packing? You’ve got, like, one suit.”

“I don’t sleep in my suit.”

“Okay, so you’ve got pajamas. Which you don’t need.”

“I don’t?”

“Nope. I’ve got pjs here. You can just wear mine. I’ll even lend you my Metallica shirt.”

“I can just wear my own sleepwear, Dean.”

“Nope,” said Dean again. “You wearing my clothes is probably the best thing that’s ever happened to me. So…”

“If it makes you happy, I won’t bring any sleepwear.”

“So what are you packing?”

“My things.”

“What things, though?”

“Toiletries. Things like that.”

“Hmm. I’m gonna inspect that bag when you get here.”

“If you insist. It shouldn’t be too exciting, so my apologies beforehand.”

“You know, man, I used to think that it was super weird how you talked, but I gotta tell you, man. It’s kinda endearing.”

“Thank you, I suppose. I do find the way you speak endearing, as well.”

“Yeah? Nobody’s ever told me that before. Most people just say I’m super annoying. Obnoxious. Synonyms like that.”

Cas chuckled. “You have a certain way about you.”

“You saying I’m annoying, Cas?”

“I would never.”

Dean made a faux-offended sound. “Wow.”

“I’m hanging up now.”

“Cas.” Dean dragged out his name. “Don’t leave me.”

“I’m going to be there in ten minutes, plus I’ll be driving. It isn’t safe to talk and drive.”

“That’s true. Don’t talk and drive. Drive safe, Cas.” Dean hung up the phone and whispered to the emptiness: “I love you.” Across town, he hoped that somehow Cas was saying the same thing to the emptiness of his own apartment.

 

“Dean?” Castiel pushed at the door and found to his surprise that it was unlocked.  _ Oh no _ . “Dean?” He walked inside, tense, and looked around cautiously. Dean was stretched out on his couch, arms thrown over his eyes, one leg dangling to the floor. He was fast asleep. He was beautiful even when he was snoring, Castiel thought fondly. He set his bag down and turned the lock on the door, then walked over to Dean and kneeled next to him, running a hand through the other man’s hair. “Dean.”

Dean grumbled and curled into himself. A gentle smile graced his lips. “Hey, Cas.”

“Hello. You should really get to bed.”

“I was waiting for you to get here.” He opened one eye to glare at Castiel. “You took forever.”

“I took twenty minutes. My apologies. There was more traffic than I expected. I always forget about holiday traffic.”

Dean lifted his arm and hooked it around Castiel’s neck. “Come lie down with me,” he mumbled.

“There isn’t room for me on the couch. Let’s get you to bed.”

“Alright, fine. But go get ready for bed first. I put your jammies on the bed.”

“Jammies?”

“Your jim jams.”

“My what?”

“Shut up, Cas.” Dean covered his face again. “Hurry up so we can go to sleep.”

Castiel laughed and dropped a kiss onto the top of Dean’s head, then walked over to the bedroom. There were worn striped pants laid out across the bed with an even more worn black shirt over it. He supposed these must be the sleepwear he was supposed to be wearing. Quickly, he stripped out of his suit, tossed it onto the chair in the corner, and pulled on the clothes. They smelled like Dean. Woodsy and sharp, but at the same time incredibly comforting. He sniffed the shirt as he came back out to the living room.

“What’s wrong?” Dean was hopping on his foot, trying to open his chair. “Did I leave the clothes in the washer too long again? ‘Cause I do that sometimes and then they smell all funny and I have to wash it, like, fifty more times before the smell gets out.”

“No, it smells nice.” Castiel dropped the shirt back to his chest, a little sheepish. “It smells like you.”

Dean started laughing. “Okay, that’s also the first time anybody’s ever said something like that.”

“Here, let me help you.” Castiel went over to Dean and pulled open his wheelchair for him. “Do you want me to get you anything to drink?”

“Oh, shit. I was supposed to make us something to eat.”

“It’s okay. I wasn’t hungry anyway.” He pushed Dean to the bedroom. “I would’ve eaten whatever you made, though.” 

“Of course you would’ve. You love my cooking.”

“I would say you are correct but I have had little opportunity to try it.”

“Hmm.” Dean was starting to droop in his chair, 

“Dean. come on. We just need to get you into bed.” Castiel wrapped Dean’s arm around his shoulders and pulled him upward. “Dean, help me out here.”

Dean just slumped against Castiel, mumbling. “I’m sleepy.”

“Yes, I know. “ But there was no impatience in Castiel’s voice, because grumpy, sleepy Dean was, for lack of a better word, adorable. He dropped Dean onto the mattress and pulled the covers up to his neck, then slid in next to him and wrapped his arm around his waist. “Goodnight, Dean.”

“Night, Cas.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for emeto, pda obviously, sui reference, nsfw ments, self harm ments, food ment, Azazel is a fucking creep as usual
> 
> As always, thank you all for your comments I really, really appreciate them

Dean woke once again wrapped up in Cas’s arms. He sleepily pushed farther into his embrace.

“I know you’re going to protest,” said Cas against Dean’s neck, “But we should probably get up soon. We have a lot to do today, and it concerns both of us.”

“Right. Sam.”

“He’s about to be able to finally leave that fucker.”

“Ooh. Nice.”

“What?”

“You said ‘fuck’. It was hot.”

Cas jabbed him with his elbow. “I’m still kind of pissed off from the first time you pointed out me cursing. You know I never cursed before I met you.”

“Really. It wasn’t Luci or Gabriel, huh?” 

“Absolutely not.”

They laid in silence for a few moments, Cas holding Dean, Dean stroking the skin of Cas’s hand with his thumb. Then Dean asked very quietly, “What do you think is gonna happen today, Cas? Because Luci said he was gonna confront whatever-his-face but, I mean, so many things could go wrong.”

“Luci can handle himself, Dean.”

“Like. Physically? Or in an argument?”

Cas kissed the spot where Dean’s neck met his shoulder. “Both. I’ve seen him in both kinds of fights and he’s always won.”

“Is Luci, like. Secretly terrifying?”

“He doesn’t really try to keep it a secret.”

Yikes. Dean closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “You think Sam will be okay?”

“Of course Sam will be okay. If Azazel tries anything, he’s got the wrath of a family of angels and the entire Roadhouse against him.”

Dean couldn’t help but laugh. “Family of angels.”

“It’s your fault I started on that, not mine.” 

“You’re the one who kept going.” 

“You got me  _ stuck _ . It’s just like with the cursing.”

“Oh, so I corrupted you, is that it?”

“Yes. You corrupted me.” Another kiss in the same spot. “But I find corruption is better than a life with no Dean Winchester.”

Dean’s cheeks burned. “Seriously, man? Your life would be so much simpler if you’d never met me. Or if you’d seen better and not hung around.”

“Dean, without you I would have missed out on so much. I would have missed out on friends. My family would still be fighting. Every day would be just another numb, mindless cycle. I would have never learned how selfless one could be, nor how noble or strong.”

“Noble?” Dean had never heard the word used outside of fiction.

“Yes, Dean, noble. You are the most noble man I have ever met.”

“Huh.” He twisted around and met Cas, nose to nose. “How did your family take everything?” 

“What, us? I told you, Dean. They’re very happy for the both of us but they promised not to tell anyone.”

“And you didn’t tell Charlie?” 

“You and Charlie don’t even run in the same circle. My telling her would affect you in no way whatsoever.”

“ _ Cas _ .”

“I didn’t tell her, Dean, though I suspect she knows what’s going on. She’s a very observant woman.” Cas paused briefly, a smile curling his lips, his eyes searching Dean’s. “She told me she ‘ships’ us.”

“She what?”

“‘Ship’ as in relationship? She supports and encourages a romantic relationship between the two of us.”

“Oh.” For some reason that word made Dean draw away.  _ Romantic _ . Before, it was just a matter of Dean likes Cas, Cas likes Dean, they really want to make out with each other. But  _ romantic _ . That has expectations. Not that they don’t have expectations for each other or anything, but come on. Romantic? That’s for chick movies. 

“Are you okay? Did I do something wrong?”

“No, it’s just.” Romantic. Dean knew that he loved Cas. He probably wouldn’t admit it out loud for the next thousand years to anybody, but he’s said it out loud to himself. Sometimes he just lays in his bed and stares up at the ceiling and repeats it over and over: I love him. I love him. I love him.

“Dean?” Cas stroked the side of his face, the side that Dean can feel things on. Cas’s hand is coarse but comforting. “What’re you thinking about?”

“I don’t know. This. This entire situation. I’ve never done this before.” 

“Done what?” 

Dean hesitated. What was he supposed to say? He’s never loved somebody in a--dare he say it--romantic way before? Sure, he loved Cassie maybe, but he never once felt this burning desire to always kiss her like he did with Cas, never felt completely at ease with her, never felt like she was saving his life over and over. Cas was, like,  _ it _ . And Dean didn’t know how to tell him that. “I guess...I’ve never cared so much before. And I’ve never had somebody care so much in return.”

Cas’s eyebrows drew together. “I thought Sam said you were very close with your last girlfriend.”

“Cassie?” Dean laughed at Cas’s expression. “Yeah, her name was Cassie. I guess I have a type and it’s names, because that’s literally all you’ve got in common. But, yeah, we never. We never really felt this much for each other. We cared for each other, sure, and I told her things I’ve never told anybody. Shit about my childhood. Shit about my dad, about how I felt about my mom, and she understood, and she helped me through some of it. But I always felt like...I don’t know, like I was missing something. Someone.”

Cas was watching him very carefully. When Dean finally finished rambling, Cas murmured, “You deserved a better life, Dean. You still do.”

“Yeah, well.”

“Well what? You can do so much with your life, Dean. What did you want to be when you grew up?”

“A firefighter or a paramedic or somebody.” Dean tried to stop the self-pity from rising up, but life’s a bitch. “Obviously I can’t do either of those things.”

“You wanted to save people?”

“Yeah. I guess it started when my mom died. I couldn’t save her, so I wanted to make up for it. I knew I never could, but I wanted to try.”

“You don’t need to be in the line of duty in order to save somebody.”

“Clearly.” Dean poked Castiel’s side. “You saved me without being in the line of duty.”

Something in Cas’s eyes clouded.

“Woah, man. You okay?”

“That first time…” He shook his head and pulled away a little bit. “I still sometimes have nightmares about it. About arriving too late, seeing you…” Cas choked up and shook his head again. 

“I shouldn’t have put you through that.” Dean felt like an absolute piece of shit now and it was--

“It wasn’t your fault. You needed help and you didn’t know how to ask for it or accept it so you weren’t getting it.”

“And then you came along and kicked my ass until I did accept it.”

“I’m still doing that.” That little smile was back, thank god.

“Man, it’s so easy to talk to you. How is that?”

“I like to imagine you trust me.” 

“Of course I trust you. But I also trust my family, and it’s never been this easy talking to them, you know? I always have to lie to them.”

“Then maybe it’s because you have no reason nor push to lie to me.”

“Yeah, that’s probably it. Should’ve known the kid genius would figure it out.” The phone started ringing next to Dean’s ear, and he rolled over, patting the nightstand until he found it, then sliding the unlock button and immediately putting it on speaker. “Yo.”

“Oh. Hello Dean.” It was Luci, and he sounded way too pleased for it to be good for anyone.

“Why do you sound so surprised? You called me.”

“Actually, I called Cassie.” 

Oh. Fuck.

“But I can talk to you. I’m on speakerphone, right? And I’m assuming Cassie is right next to you and listening in?”

Oh, fuck.

“I’m here,” said Cas, casual as ever, sliding to an upright sitting position. “What’s up?”

“We’re about to head over to Lezaza’s. Where are you?”

“Still in bed?”

“Cassie.” Luci sounded endearingly exasperated, but that was it. “Come on. Get yourself and Dean dressed and come over. We’re waiting.”

“Who all is going?” Dean was kind of concerned about how many people were getting involved.  He’d harmed Cas enough with his shit and he didn’t want Cas’s family getting involved, too.

“I’m the only one going inside, unless you want to change that. Gabriel, Michael, you, and Cas will all be in the car. I’ve set Anna and Alfie and Sam up at Bobby’s garage, so they’ll be fine, and nobody else knows they’re there.”

“How is he? Have you seen him?”

“Yeah. I had to go there to drop Alfie and Anna off. He seems okay. Nervous, but okay. Excited to get the fuck out of there.”

“Okay. Where are we meeting you?”

“Gabriel’s. It’ll be easier just to take one car.”

“Okay,” said Cas, “We’ll be there in about half an hour.”

“Thanks for this.” Dean held the phone close to his mouth, even though that was completely unnecessary.

“You’re welcome. I would be glad to do it anyway. Lezaza is a total asshole and I’d bring him down for any reason, but...Sam is a nice kid. I’m glad I got to know you two.” Luci hung up, thankfully, before the conversation could get any more sappy. Dean hung up, too, and dropped the phone onto the nightstand again.

“I really,  _ really  _ don’t want to get up.”

“It’s for Sam.”

“I know. And that’s going to be the only reason I  _ do _ get up.” Dean reached out his arm, groping for his wheelchair. Cas, next to him, swung the covers off of both of them and stood. Dean stopped sliding into his wheelchair for a moment, just watching him get up. He was so...Dean had thought it a million times before, but thinking it one more time wasn’t going to change anything--Cas was so fucking attractive. His hair was in the same position it always was, though a bit more ruffled than usual after just getting up, his eyes dropping but still full of the same wonder they always were. And when he  _ stretched _ \--Jesus fuck, Dean could see a thin strip of his stomach, a narrow glimpse of those killer fucking hipbones. “Cas,” he whispered. Cas stopped stretching. His arms slowly fell to his sides and he tilted his head at Dean.

“Yes?”

“C’mere.” Dean stretched out his own arm and made grabby motions with his hand. “C’mere,” he said again, softer. Cas moved toward him, finally stopping when Dean’s hand wrapped around his wrist.

“Yes?” Cas asked again. As an answer, Dean just pulled him down to his mouth. “Dean,” Cas whispered between kisses, “We need to go. We’re going to be late.”

“Just.” Kiss. “One.” Kiss. “More.” Kiss.

Cas pulled away. There was a huge grin on his face. “Go take a shower.”

“ _ You _ take a shower.”

“I took one when I got home last night. I was covered in some kid’s vomit. He...lost his stomach when he was in front of me and it flew all over my suit.”

Dean gagged. “That’s...absolutely disgusting. What the fuck.”

“He apologized profusely. Well, his parents did. The kid was still vomiting when we got off the ride.”

“Oh my god  _ stop. _ I’ll go take a shower. Jesus.” Dean hopped into his chair and wheeled toward the bathroom. “Just. Anything to make you stop.”

Cas laughed and ruffled his hair as he passed by him. “I was kidding. No kid puked on me. I was just--”

“Cas, I don’t wanna know. Whatever it was, I don’t wanna know.” 

 

As the water poured over him, Dean wondered how exactly his life had changed ever since student-teacher conferences just a couple months ago. Like, jesus. Cas was right. Dean  _ was  _ affectionate. With Cassie, Dean was like, hey, sure, I’d fuck her when she wants, and I’ll accept kisses, and we’ll make out every now and then, but come on. They were  _ teenagers _ . Now Dean was a grown-ass man and he was full of self control and there was absolutely no reason Dean should ever feel the urge to just jump Cas’s bones, but Dean almost always felt the urge to jump Cas’s bones. Or at least wheel to and then hop over them. And he always wanted to kiss him. And he hadn’t ever technically made out with Cas--to make out with somebody you had to use tongue at some point, right? Dean couldn’t remember the rules anymore. But he also wanted to use tongue with Cas. And he really wanted to just, you know. See Cas naked. Cas had seen  _ him _ naked, right? It was only fair.

Sure, Cas had only seen Dean naked because he was flipping the fuck out on the bathroom floor. On  _ this _ bathroom floor, which he was suspiciously not freaking out on now, even though the room was filled with steam. Huh. It must be because of Cas. Most things were. It was like Cas had healing powers or something. Like he just came around, poked Dean on the forehead, and Dean was all better.  _ Voila! Magically healed by the power of angels! _ Dean laughed, choked on the shampoo that got in his mouth, laughed again. He had fallen so fucking hard for this guy so fast and he didn’t even want to admit it to himself, but deep, deep, deep inside he knew it for a fact. He fucking loved Cas, okay? He loved him. And he really, really wanted to tell him but also that was not gonna fucking happen because, seriously. Come on. Saying stuff like that automatically turned one’s life into a chick flick and Dean was not a chick flick kind of guy.

Which. This entire situation was weird because just a couple weeks ago, still while Dean wanted to fuck him to hell and back, he tried to convince himself he was straight. And if their...whatever this was...had progressed in that time, Dean probably would have self-hated his way back to his cigar box. Fucked up but true.

Okay.  _ Really _ fucked up but true.

But now. Now apparently everybody on the fucking planet and their alien pen pal knew that Dean was about as straight as a fucking pie, there really wasn’t any reason to pretend like he wasn’t attracted to guys. Like, Cas was in the world. And Dr. Sexy. How was  _ anybody _ supposed to be straight when  _ they _ existed?

Also, like. Dean had been thinking about banging Cas and the details behind such urges for like several minutes now and not once did he stop himself and think,  _ Hey, you’re being super weird right now and kind of turning into a chick flick here and you should probably stop at some point because it doesn’t really matter that you really want to kiss Cas and also really want Cas to boss you around more because that was really hot and it doesn’t matter that Cas’s lips are really, really soft and gentle like 24/7 although sometimes (all the time) you want Cas to be a little rougher and just fucking bruise your lips-- _

Alright,  _ that _ was definitely enough. Dean was drawing the line at thoughts about stopping thoughts getting interrupted by other thoughts about how much he wanted to make out with Cas.

There was a knock at the door, interrupting Dean’s inception thoughts. “Did you die or what? We don’t have that much time to kill, Dean.”

Oops. They were supposed to be there in half an hour. And Dean had been daydreaming about Cas fucking him.

_ Whoa _ . Whoa. No he wasn’t. He was dreaming about kissing him and that was it. Dean was hot for Cas but not, like,  _ that _ hot for Cas. Right? He just. Wanted to see Cas naked. And kiss him while he was naked.

Okay, he totally wanted to fuck Cas. He totally did.

“Dean,” Cas said impatiently.

“Sorry, Cas. I’m getting out.” Dean shut off the water and grabbed his towel, drying as much as he could before he had to get up, balance on one foot, dry the rest, and hop until he could get his boxers on and drop into his wheelchair. “Did I ever tell you,” he asked, pushing open the door to Cas, “That--” And then he stopped, because Cas was in his suit, but the tie was gone, and so was the jacket. It was just the slacks and the white shirt, and Cas’s hair was still deliciously ruffled, and the collar of his shirt was deliciously skewed.

“Ever tell me what?” Cas asked, frowning and tilting his head in the beautiful Cas way that only Cas could ever pull off. 

“Holy fuck,” said Dean. 

“You need to get dressed. You were supposed to take a quick shower and you were in there for ten minutes.”

“Oops,” said Dean, completely unabashedly. He grinned and wheeled toward Cas. “You look really good.”

“I’m trying it out. But I am taking everything else with me and keeping it in the car. Just in case.”

“You look  _ really _ good.”

“Thank you. Now, get dressed, Dean. We don’t have very much time.”

“Okay, okay. What should I wear?”

“Wear whatever you want.”

“Come  _ on _ , Cas.”

“How did you ever dress yourself without me? Because you haven’t dressed without my help in any of the times I’ve been here.”

“What? No way.” Dean stopped for a moment. “Okay, never mind. But I don’t usually get dressed if you’re around, anyway. I have pajamas.”

“Do you mean ‘jammies’?” 

“No. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“What about jim jams?”

Dean covered his face. “Stop.”

“Get dressed, Dean. I’ll make you coffee.” 

 

“Do you have a plan? Or are you just winging it? Because it kind of feels like you’re winging it.”

Luci sighed for probably the fiftieth time since Dean got in the car. “I’ve dealt with people like this before, Dean. I’ve dealt with  _ him  _ before.”

“Okay but do you have a plan?” 

“Yes. I have a plan.” Luci pulled to a stop in front of Azazel’s house and turned around to face Dean. “Do you want to come inside?”

“Uh. What?”

“You can. If you want.”

“He hates my guts.”

“He hates mine, too. We aren’t trying to get him to like us, Dean. We are here to intimidate him.”

“Which I’m not capable of doing. Have you seen me?”

“What about you?”

“I’m in a wheelchair. That isn’t intimidating.”

“Your love for Sam is very real. That gives you a great intimidation point.” He grabbed the car handle. “You coming in or not?”

Dean really didn’t want to go in, but he also really wanted to see Luci kick Azazel’s ass. Luci was tall and scrawny, sure, but Dean was mostly convinced that Luci was stronger than he looked. Plus, if anything went wrong, he had Michael, Gabriel, and Cas to back him up. And Dean, but it was unlikely that Dean would do anything other than provide the party with some comic relief. Also Dean didn’t want Cas getting involved, because that means that Cas might get hurt. He could just stay in the car.

“Dean,” said Luci, and then he turned to Cas and raised an eyebrow. “Is he always this spacey?”

“He gets like this sometimes,” said Cas quietly. “There’s a lot on his mind.”

“You overestimate me,” said Dean. He pulled open the door and dropped his wheelchair onto the sidewalk. “Let’s do this.”

Of course, he immediately hit an obstacle. Dean had forgotten that, when he and Sam moved in with Azazel, Dean had had to build a ramp for himself. He got a little help from Sam, but come on. That kid didn’t know a jackhammer from a screwdriver and couldn’t nail a board to save his life. Nevertheless, when the ramp was finally finished, it was a professional masterpiece, and Dean could get into the house with ease.

Apparently, after Dean left, Azazel had immediately removed that ramp. So Dean was left staring at this giant-ass step and it stared right back and Dean could swear that it laughed at him.

“Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea,” said Dean.

“Nonsense. I’ve seen you get up stairs before.” Luci stepped up first and held out a hand. “Need any help?”

Dean scowled. “Fine.” He grabbed onto Luci’s hand, hauled himself up, threw the wheelchair onto the higher level, and then clumsily dropped back into it. “That was both terrible and embarrassing.”

“It was neither. Shut up.”

“You and Cas have extraordinarily different techniques to make me feel better about myself.”

“Yes, well, I’m not in love with you.”

As Dean was processing this little tidbit of information that may or may not just be Luci’s overactive imagination, Luci rang the doorbell and the door started opening.

And there he was. Azazel.

He looked just as slimy as he did the day Dean left. His eyes twitched and rolled in their sockets like he was wearing contacts that didn’t quite fit properly, and he tilted his head both sideways and back, like he was sizing you the fuck up and you were about to die.

Okay. Dean might be a little dramatic, but in his defense, Azazel had genuinely tried to kill him, right? There’s no way he expected Dean to survive those stab wounds. No way.

Azazel twitched his eyes toward them. “Never expected to see  _ you _ together,” he sneered. “Poison and the rat. What an odd combination.”

“Am I Poison or The Rat?” Dean couldn’t help asking. “Because both make rockin’ names.”

“Still the prankster, I see.”

“So now I’m The Prankster?” Oh my god, Dean. Stop. Thankfully Azazel finally chose to ignore this addition to the conversation and instead turned to Luci.

“I haven’t seen you in many years, Lucifer. What brings you here? And how did you come to know Dean?”

“There’s a reason we haven’t seen each other in a while.” Luci crossed his arms. There was a weird glint in his eye that Dean had never seen in any of the Novak-Milton family members before. Not even Cas. “Are you going to invite us in or are you going to be rude?”

Dean knew for a fact that Azazel didn’t give a shit about being rude, but he opened the door a little anyway, and Luci brushed past him, pushing him over just enough so Dean could wheel inside. He wasn’t sure if that was on purpose or if that was just dumb luck, but he was pretty certain that Azazel tried to close the door on his back tire before he could get all the way in. Rude.

“The living room is this way,” Azazel said, leading them down the hallway. Dean shivered, looking at all of the pictures Azazel had hanging up. All of Sam. It was fucking creepy. Why was he so obsessed with him? And why the fuck did he hate Dean so much, anyway? What did Dean ever do to him?

They finally reached the living room and Luci and Azazel sat across from each other, Luci making himself comfortable but Azazel lowering himself into his seat slowly, almost warily.

“You never answered me, Lucifer. What brings you here?”

“I’m here to talk about Sam.”

Azazel’s eyes narrowed. “What about him?”

“I want to know why you kidnapped him and Dean.”

Nothing passed across Azazel’s face. “I do apologize, but I simply have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Ooh. Clear bullshit there,” said Dean. He leaned toward Luci. “He talks all old-fashioned whenever he’s lying.”

“So that’s his tell.” The glint in his eyes was still there, but now Luci looked amused. “I’ll be sure to remember that. So let’s try again, Alastair. Why did you kidnap Sam and Dean? Was it for the money? There are easier ways to get money, you know.” 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“I know that you--or somebody who works for you--forged Mary Campbell-Winchester’s signature on her will.”

“And how do you know that?” 

“You’re the only person who would have benefited from that portion of the will, Alastair. Who else would sign it? Now, again: why did you kidnap Sam and Dean?”

“Assuming I did,” said Azazel, which was a total non-answer but still managed to ease Dean’s mind in the could-we-have-fucked-this-up department, “What’s your first guess? Why do you think I would want Sam?”

Luci’s eyes narrowed. “I didn’t come here to play games. I came here for answers.”

“And you expected to just get them? Just like that?”

Luci’s face relaxed. His eyes got sleepy and his lips curled into a slow, lazy smile. It was probably the most terrifying thing Dean had ever seen, even worse than that look in his eye that he got earlier. Now he just looked...amused again. Terrifyingly amused. “Yes, Alastair. That is exactly what I expect. You know the lengths to which I will go to get what I want.”

“I remember how you used to be,” said Azazel, “But times change. It’s been years. That was when you were more ambitious. That was when you were actually going to do things with your life. Now look at you. You’re pathetic. Washed up. Prison changed you, didn’t it?”

“Prison changed nothing but my marital status, Alastair.”

“Oh, you got married? Congratulations. What’s the lucky bastard’s name?”

Luci’s smile grew wider. “Tell me what you want with Sam.”

Azazel reached over to his side table and picked up his coffee mug. Dean remembered he drank it with two-percent milk and no sugar, and the milk-to-coffee ratio had to be at least two-to-one but it was usually higher. “So, Dean,” he said. “How did you end up with a rat like Lucifer?”

“Oh, fuck,” said Dean, “That means I’m Poison, doesn’t it?”

“I knew you were in with the bad crowd, but I didn’t think your crowd was this bad.”

“Yeah? Who was my ‘bad crowd’? Jo and Ash? Bobby?”

Azazel stared at him for some time, then he smiled. “I see what you’re doing. I’m tough with giving up answers, so you’re going to as well, is that it?”

“I’m just having a nice conversation with you.” Dean smiled back, just as big.

“Enough of this.” Luci stood up, so fast that Dean almost didn’t see him move, and shot toward Azazel, wrapping a hand around his throat and pushing him backward violently enough that Azazel’s mug went flying across the room. “Why. Did you want. Sam.”

“I have my reasons.” Azazel’s yellow eyes flashed.

“Oh. Fuck.” Luci dropped him and took a step back. “You did it.”

“What did I do? I didn’t do anything.”

“Yeah, what did he do?” Dean reached down and grabbed his wheel, preparing to get the fuck out if needed.

Luci shook his head and pointed at Azazel. “Listen, Alastair. When Sam leaves, you’re going to let him go. Got that?”

“I’m fully prepared for him to leave. As soon as he turns eighteen, he is free to go.”

Luci pressed his lips together. “You’re going to pay for everything you’ve done.”

“Sure. Like you’ve paid for everything you’ve done? Four years doesn’t cover shit, Lucifer.”

Luci’s face darkened. “I paid my dues.”

“I doubt it. Now, if you could.” Azazel stood and brushed imaginary crumbs off his shirt. “I have things to do and I really don’t want to call the police on you two.”

Sure, Dean thought, that would totally be a huge hardship for you. I’m sure you’d be crushed. 

“Fine.” Luci brushed off imaginary crumbs, too, a little smile on his face. He was totally mocking Azazel, Dean noted with great satisfaction. “We’ll be taking our leave. Dean?”

“Uh.” Dean looked between them. Was that seriously it? “Alright.” He wheeled after Luci, throwing a wary glance back at Azazel as he went. Azazel gave him a sleazy smile. “Ugh. Fuck off.” They got outside and the door closed and Dean immediately spun toward Luci. “What the fuck was that, man?  _ That’s _ how you deal with people like him? Like I thought you were doing okay for a while and then you just back off and surrender? What the fuck, man? We’re supposed to be keeping Sam safe here!”

Luci grinned. “I told you I had a plan.” He lifted up his phone. “I cloned his cell.” 

“You.” Dean blinked. “You can do that?”

“Yes. And it’s exactly what I did.” He tucked the phone into his pocket and carefully suppressed his smile. “Now. Act normal before Alastair gets suspicious. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

Dean stared at him. “You are the coolest motherfucker I know.”

“Nah. Second coolest. You’re dating my brother, after all.” He stepped down and stuck out his hand. Dean frowned at it.

“I am not.”

“Whatever. Hurry up. We don’t have all day.”

 

Dean came back into the car with flushed cheeks and wild eyes, and Castiel couldn’t help but notice how beautiful he was.

“Well?” he said.

“Mission accomplished,” Luci said, climbing into the front seat.

“So Sam is free to go? And we know why Azazel took him and Dean?”

Luci’s hands flexed on the steering wheel. “Yes to one of those.”

“Wait, what?” Dean leaned forward. “You knew what he was talking about? I thought you were just bluffing, man.” 

“No. I know why he took the both of you. He only wanted Sam, though.”

“What the fuck is going on?” Dean was beginning to sound exasperated. “Seriously, man, you gotta tell me something.”

“I don’t really know how to explain it. I’ll need to show you.” Luci pulled out his phone and dialed a number. “Ruby? Sweetheart, I need you to bring me a file. Number fifty-four. Got that? Thanks, honey.”

“Sweetheart,” Michael said once Luci had hung up. “Honey.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“I didn’t know you were one for pet names.”

“Shut up.” Luci started the car. “I will throw you out the window if I have to.”

“Sure. Okay.”

“I  _ will _ .”

“I’m terrified.”

The door opened, and Azazel’s head poked out.

“Time to go,” said Luci, and they peeled away.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was gonna post this later in the week but I feel like I'm rotting inside and I guess I'm hoping positive feedback on the only thing I care about anymore will help :*
> 
> cw for fire and death and car crashes. Also much more nsfw than it has ever been in the past
> 
> as always, I love you all and the comments you put on here genuinely give me a reason to live

“When will we be seeing this file?”

They were back at Gabriel’s apartment, and Dean and Castiel were sprawled across the loveseat. Lucifer and Michael shared the couch and Gabriel paced in front of them.

“Because you’re leaving tonight, right? And that’s a problem since you just told Ruby to fly  _ here _ and obviously she won’t get here with much time to spare--” 

“We’re staying one more day,” Luci said calmly. “Just enough to get this sorted out.”

“We would stay longer if we could,” Michael added, “But. You know. We own a company of our own now and it’s kind of falling apart without us. Sorry, Dean.”

“No, I get it.” Dean waved a hand. “It’s cool, man. Honestly. You don’t even know us that well anyway.”

“That’s.” Michael looked pained.

“Seriously. It’s okay. I can’t help but try and make myself sound worthless, right, Cas?” His foot nudged Castiel’s side and Castiel frowned at him. “What? It’s true.” 

“Yes, but you really should stop.”

“They’re so cute,” said Gabriel. “But seriously? Guys? A little more planning would be nice. Have you gotten anything from the cloned phone?”

Luci had revealed what he’d done inside Azazel’s house while they were peeling away. Castiel had been impressed with how quick-thinking his brother was. “Nothing yet,” Luci said. “Just a few emails.”

“How’d you clone it, anyway?” Dean seemed very interested in the process. “Because in, like. The movies? They have this entire process where they have to pull somethin’ out the back like a chip or something. And they have an identical phone to match it to.”

“My technology is proximity based.” Luci held up the phone and pointed to a red button. “This used to be green. When I want to clone something, I press it, and it uses both bluetooth and wifi networks to hack into his phone and clone everything about it. I even get all the pictures he takes.”

“So you’ll get Azazel nudes?” Dean gagged and Luci grimaced.

“I hope not. That would be...unpleasant.”

“Unpleasant? Your eyes would burn out.”

“Nah. Only Michael’s nudes would do that.” Just as always, Luci found comfort in teasing his brother. Michael elbowed his ribs in response.

“Asshole. You know, I’m not as prudish as you all seem to think I am.”

“We don’t think you’re a  _ prude _ , Michael,” Luci assured him, patting his leg. “We know you want to get action. But we also know you just never quite reach that point.”

“Oh,  _ fuck _ off.”

Dean settled his head back onto the armrest of the couch, closing his eyes. “Sorry about all of this,” said Castiel.

“Nah, man. It’s cool. It’s actually kinda relaxing.”

Luci and Michael stopped arguing. “It’s what?” Michael said, sounding baffled. Dean opened one eye.

“Just. This. I give Sam shit all the time and it’s the most relaxing thing I do. It’s what I know best. So listening to other families do it too...I don’t know. It’s nice.”

Everyone stared for a minute longer. Then Luci said, “Your boyfriend’s weird, Cas.”

“I’m not his boyfriend,” Dean huffed.

“Aw, come on.” Gabriel dropped into the recliner across them and pouted his mouth. “Don’t say stuff like that in front of Cassie. You’re gonna hurt his feelings.”

“Well,” said Castiel, “He isn’t my boyfriend.”

“What, you just spend twenty-four-seven together and sleep in the same bed and cuddle and kiss and are literally the only people who can help each other but you aren’t dating?”

“How much exactly does he know about us?” Dean asked, craning his head up to look at Castiel.

“More than I assumed,” said Castiel as he tilted his head at his brother. Luci shrugged.

“It’s my job to know what my brothers are doing.”

“Not Anna?”

“Oh, come on. Nobody but Charlie ever knows what she’s up to.”

“True,” said everybody at once, though Castiel suspected Dean didn’t fully understand the capacity of Charlie’s relationship with Castiel’s family.

“We should invite her back up to Chicago,” said Michael thoughtfully. “She could come with all of you, too.”

“You want  _ me  _ to come to Chicago?”

“You could bring Sam, too, if you want. We’ll pay for you all.”

“Why do you want me in Chicago?”

“Because you’re dating my little brother and you should totally meet the parents. Well. Naomi. I’m pretty sure Dad’s on a tortilla somewhere in Mexico.”

“A tortilla,” Dean repeated.

“Yeah. Get it? Because he’s the father of angels?”

Dean started laughing.

“That’s terrible,” said Castiel.

“It’s amazing is what it is, Cassie.”

“No, not really. We never had this many bad jokes before Dean.”

“Back to the point,” said Dean, “Why would you pay for us?”

“I already told you. You’re dating my brother and it’s serious so I think you should be forced to sit through some terrible family dinners. Also,” he added, lifting a shoulder, “I’m super rich and can afford it.”

Dean looked down. “That must be nice. Always having money. You’ve always been rich, right? Cas said you guys had servants.”

“We did.” Luci leaned back and dropped his feet onto the ottoman. “God, and Naomi still does.”

“What? Seriously?”

“Yep. They served us dinner when I got out.” He rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “We also used to have a butler. Remember him, Cassie?” 

Castiel smiled. “Yes. His name was...Raphael, was it not?”

“Yeah. Ol’ Raphy. We didn’t get along.”

“None of the older kids did,” Michael said wryly. “You, me, and Gabe. We were constantly giving him shit.”

“As I recall,”  said Castiel, “It was mostly Gabriel and Luci messing with him.”

“Is that what Michael told you?” Gabriel, who had somehow moved to the kitchen without anyone noticing, seemed to be in the middle of mixing drinks. “Because Michael was the one who inspired us both to be as nasty as possible. It’s just that he was never caught.” 

“Yes, well, I grew up,” said Michael. “Luci and Gabriel, however, did not.”

“You know what?” Gabriel dropped a glass onto the counter with a clatter. “Just for that, I’m going to throw the cocktail I just made you down the drain.”

“What?” Luci jumped up. “Don’t do that. Give it to me!”

“Nope. Pouring it down the drain now.” Gabriel took the glass and drained it all in one gulp. “What a shame.”

Luci sat back down, pouting. “I hate you so much.”

“You do not. I made you one, too. Dean? What’s your poison.”

Dean craned his neck toward the kitchen. “Whiskey.”

“Nice.” Gabriel started digging through the cupboards. “What about you, Cassie?”

“I’m fine, thank you.”

“No. Really. What do you want?”

“Water.”

“Make him a vodka martini,” said Michael.

“Wow.” Luci looked impressed. “I thought you would go along with this ‘I want water’ bullshit.”

“Alfie and Anna aren’t around to absorb the bad influence. I’m not too concerned. Gabe, I want a vodka martini too.”

“That’s what I made you. And then you were an ass. So I drank it.”

“I only spoke the truth. Do you deny that you and Luci never moved on?”

“No. But it’s still rude.”

“I moved on,” said Luci. 

“No, you just went to bigger and better pranks.” Michael prodded him with his finger.

“That’s still moving on.”

“Okay, fine. You moved on. But you’re still a child.” 

Luci opened his mouth to answer, but he was interrupted by a ding coming from his phone. He dug it out of his pocket and turned the screen on. “Alastair just texted somebody,” he said. “About Sam. He’s looking for him.” He turned the screen.

>>Have you found Sam?

“Fuck.” Dean shot upward. “Fuck, we should have gone straight back to Bobby’s. What the fuck are we doing here?” 

“They’re safe at Bobby’s.” But Luci was frantically scrolling through the phone.”

“We need to  _ go _ ,” said Dean.

“No. We need to figure out what’s going on. He’s safe at--”

“No he fucking isn’t!” Dean exploded. “Everybody who could protect him is  _ here _ ! Bobby’s a badass but he’s also like a hundred years old!”

“Dean,” Michael tried to say.

“No, he fucking.” Dean’s breathing was quickening. “He fucking isn’t. I need. I need to.” He pressed his hand to his forehead.

“Dean.” Castiel rubbed a hand on Dean’s back. “Why don’t you call him?”

“Right. Right.” 

“Dean, Alastair is still looking. He hasn’t found him yet. Sam knows how to take care of himself, right? You both lived alone for the majority of your childhood. Did you teach him?”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course I did.”

“Tell him to take precautions. Tell him not to answer doors. Tell him to protect Alfie and Anna, do you understand?”

“Yeah.” Dean started nodding and it seemed almost as if he wasn’t able to stop. “Okay. Gimme my chair.”

Castiel pulled it toward them and opened it up, and Dean settled himself into it. “Dean, remember. Stay calm. You don’t want to make Sam panic. Panicked people can’t concentrate.”

“Thanks, Cas.”

Dean wheeled away and Luci, Michael, and Gabriel all stared with wide eyes at Castiel. “What?”

“That was amazing,” Gabriel said. “You two really do belong together.”

“What was amazing? I just--”

“You calmed him down from a panic attack in like two seconds flat. It was amazing.”

Castiel frowned at them. “What did Alastair do, exactly, that we have to be so wary of him?”

“He’s a slimy bastard.” If this were a movie, Luci would knock back a shot of whiskey after he said this, but instead he just daintily sips his martini. “But he won’t hurt Sam.”

“That’s what Dean said before. But why are you so sure of it?”

“Because Sam is too important.” 

“I can’t believe you need somebody to bring you files in order to explain anything to us,” Michael sighed. “Dean needs to know what’s going on, Luci.”

“Even I don’t remember much about it. I need the file to confirm my suspicions.”

“Just at least tell me this, Luci.” Michael tilted his head toward him, eyebrows drawing together. “Are you involved in this?”

“What? What do you mean? I’ve been in  _ prison _ , Michael.”

“Just answer the question, Lucifer. Are you involved?”

Luci drew back as if he’d been shot. “Michael, I can’t believe you’d ask me something like this.”

The room was deathly silent. Gabriel had stopped mixing drinks and was frozen in the kitchen, head cocked. “Answer the question, Lucifer.”

“I’m not involved.”

Michael watched him, unmoving.

“I...I used to be. It never went as far as this.”

“As far as what?” Dean was back in the room. Castiel wasn’t sure how long he’d been there. “As far as kidnapping kids? What, you just stopped at threats of kidnapping kids?”

“What we planned...It was.” Luci let out his breath. “It was entirely theoretical. It was merely an idea. I never thought he would actually carry through with it.”

“All of your crimes,” said Michael quietly, “And I never thought you would even think about harming somebody. Anybody who had been harmed, I just thought they were accidents, you know? But you planned something like this, and that just proves me wrong.” 

“I never  _ did  _ anything! I told you--it was all theoretical. It was just something we were brainstorming about. It was a possibility--it was a plan made for another version of myself, I don’t know.”

“A version that didn’t end up in prison?” Dean’s voice was getting angrier. “Were you going to carry it out if you didn’t get caught?”

“No, I.” Luci’s own voice was pained. “I wasn’t. I swear.”

“And I’m just supposed to believe you?” Dean wheeled a little closer, his face darkening. “Did you target my family in particular? Or were we chosen at random?”

“I didn’t know about you or Sam, Dean. I swear I didn’t.”

Dean’s lip trembled. For a long while, he said nothing. He just sat there, lip trembling, brow furrowed, holding back a tremendous amount of anger. Then he said, “I want to go home.”

Castiel pushed himself upward.

“No, Cas, I. I’m just gonna take a cab, okay?”

“I can drive you home,” Castiel said.

“I know. But I need alone time.”

“Dean.” Castiel chased Dean to the door, touching his shoulder before Dean exited. “Please don’t pull away from me.”

“This isn’t your fault, Cas. I just. Learning that about Luci and then I look at you and. I need to think and I need to be with Sam. I’ll just get a cab.”

“There aren’t any cabs that come by here.”

“Then I’ll call for a ride. I know people.”

“Dean…”

Dean’s hand wrapped around the doorknob and his head fell, chin touching his chest. “Just. Give me some time, okay? Please?” He turned and laced his fingers through Castiel’s. “I’ll call you, okay?” 

“Let me know when you’re safe.” Castiel bent down and pressed a kiss to Dean’s cheek, then to his mouth.  _ I love you. I love you _ . He wished he could say it out loud but he knew he couldn’t, so instead he just prayed the gesture meant enough.

“Okay. Thanks, Cas.”

“Dean.”  _ I love you _ .

Dean gave him a small smile. Maybe it meant that he loved him, too. Maybe it just meant that he was amused with Castiel’s blunders. “Yeah?”

“Nothing.” Castiel pulled open the door and held it as Dean went through, his heart aching with the words he’d wanted to say for such a very long time. “Goodbye, Dean.”

“Bye, Cas.”

Castiel watched until he couldn’t see him anymore, then closed and locked the door and went back to the living room. “Luci,” he said carefully.

“Cassie, I swear. I had no idea Alastair would do this.”

“You need to tell us something. This isn’t enough. You can’t keep on doing this. You can’t keep all of these secrets. Not when it has to do with him.” 

“Cassie--”

“You don’t understand, Luci. Dean is really important to me.”

“I get it, Cassie. You love him.”

Castiel dropped onto the couch again and put his head into his hands. “That isn’t all,” he said.

 

Dean sat by the street for a couple minutes. There was this streetlamp right across Gabriel’s apartment that was flickering, and Dean couldn’t stop looking at it.

On. Off. On. Off.

How the fuck was his life this messed up? And why did everything he do go back to Cas? Cas was just Sam’s hot history teacher and then he saved Dean’s life and suddenly even Dean and Sam’s guardian was connected to him. What the fuck was he supposed to do about that? What kind of coincidence was it that the person who kidnapped Sam and Dean was connected to Sam’s history teacher?

There was a reason this was all happening. And Dean knew Luci was smack dab in the middle of it, but he also refused to say anything about what was happening until he got that damn file. Which wouldn’t arrive until tomorrow. Which was bullshit.

He started wheeling down the road, hoping the direction he was going was toward town. His arm would get tired soon, but that was fine. He would be fine. 

“I’m fine,” he said aloud, to the empty road. “I’m fine.”

It was like his new mantra. Before, it was his apologies to his family, but that was done with. He was over that. Now he just needed to convince everybody once and for all that he was perfectly. Fucking. Fine.

His hand slipped on his wheel for a second and caught in the spokes. He hissed, bringing his hand up to his mouth and sucking on it. Fuck. Why didn’t he just take that ride that Cas offered? It wasn’t like he couldn’t have just pretended to be okay. Cas usually saw through his bullshit, but come on. He could’ve gotten a ride.

But, then again, his whole...dilemma here wasn’t related to Cas. Not directly. And the only reason he really refused the ride was because Cas and Luci had the same eyes and he didn’t want them looking at him so earnestly the entire ride home. 

Cas’s eyes were better, of course. They were full of wonder and they sparkled more and they had so much more meaning in them, but they were the same color, and Luci cocked his head just like Cas did, and even though both of these things were wholly Cas, Dean just  _ really _ didn’t want to deal with that. Not right now.

Luci probably didn’t do anything wrong, but he was still involved. He helped plan the whole thing. He started this. He made this possible. He might not have actually said “Let’s fuck the Winchesters up” but he made it fucking possible and that was the fucking problem. 

Okay. Okay. Deep breaths, Dean.

“I’m fine,” he whispered, but it came out choppy, his breathing labored. He didn’t know how long he’d been wheeling himself at this point, but Gabriel’s apartment was out of sight and now he was in some suburban neighborhood.

Suburban neighborhood? Really?

He stopped for a moment. Looked around. Where the fuck was he? He didn’t notice making a turn, but the road he was on didn’t look familiar at all.

Awesome. He was lost. And he didn’t see street signs anywhere.

“Fuck,” he muttered, grabbing his wheel again. He’d keep moving until he found a street sign, and then he’d call somebody. Jody, maybe. Or Ellen. Or even Jo. Somebody. “I’m fine,” he told himself. “I’m fine.”

Somebody to his right came out of the house and toward the street. He couldn’t see their face through the shadows, but they were coming toward him pretty quickly. Oh, fuck. He started wheeling faster.

“Dean?”

He knew that voice. He slowed his chair and turned around, frowning. It was that red-headed girl from the park. Charlie. She was wearing tiny striped pajama shorts and a black tank top, and was holding a key in her right hand. 

“What are you doing out here all alone?”

“I, uh.” He rubbed the back of his head, embarrassed. “I kinda got lost?”

“Uh. Okay, one sec.” Charlie rushed to her mailbox and fumbled with the key. “Do you want to come inside and warm up? I can give you a ride to wherever you need to go.”

“Sure.” Dean wheeled closer and waited for her to get the rest of her mail before she started toward the house.

“Dean?”

“Yeah.”

“When I came outside, you started going, like. Super fast. You weren’t scared of me, were you?” She gestured to herself. “Do I seem that scary?”

“Charlie, anybody who stands on two feet and is older than fourteen is at least a little intimidating to me. They have the advantage. I have only half a body and the side of my body that actually does work constantly malfunctions.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I’m used to it.”

“Your life seems pretty sucky, dude.”

Something welled up in Dean’s chest, and he choked down a sob. “Yeah, it has its ups and downs.” 

“Hey.” Charlie reached toward him hesitantly. “Are you okay?”

“I...I don’t know.”

“Where’s Cas? You guys are together officially now, right?”

“He told you? He said he didn’t.”

She gave him a little smile. “I guessed. Come on. Let’s get you inside.” She opened the door (thankfully the bump Dean had to get over was minimal) and her eyes softened. “I can make you hot cocoa. Is that okay?”

“I might spill it everywhere.”

“That’s okay. My mom does the same thing.”

“Your mom. Is she…?”

Charlie closed the door after him and, for a moment, rested her head on the wood. “She...she got in a car crash. She’s been in the hospital ever since.”

“Oh. Fuck. I’m sorry.”

“Was it scary?” She lifted her head and Dean saw that her eyes were rimmed with red. “Were you frightened?”

“When I got in the car crash?”

“Yeah. I just. She doesn’t remember anything anymore. She eats and drinks but she has no responses. I just don’t want her last memory to be one where she’s scared.”

“Charlie--”

“I thought so.” She nodded, and Dean couldn’t stop the ‘I’m a piece of shit’ feeling growing inside him. He was lucky. He came out of his car crash alive and aware. His dad didn’t get that. Charlie’s mom didn’t get that. He was fucking selfish for being so petty about the whole thing.

“How about that hot cocoa, huh?” Charlie wiped at her eyes and walked briskly to the kitchen. “How do you like it? Want mint or cinnamon or anything in it?” She pulled out a pot and turned on the stove. 

“How do you like it?”

“Mint.”

“Then I’ll try that.”

“You’ll like it. It tastes like you’re eating Thin Mints. The living room’s over there, if you want to make yourself comfortable. The remote should be on the loveseat, but I always lose that thing, so that might not be true. If you find it, you can watch whatever you want.”

“Do you have any Dr. Sexy recorded?”

“I actually have those on DVD.” 

“All seasons? Even the third?”

“Of course I have all of the seasons.”

“Nice.” Dean wheeled into the living room. “Is your mom in Chicago?”

“Yeah. How’d you know?”

“Cas said you met his family while in Chicago, but he didn’t know why you were there. He said you’d been pretty secretive about it.”

Charlie came into the living room, helped Dean settle onto the couch, and arranged a blanket over his legs.

“Thanks.”

Charlie pressed her lips together. “I didn’t want to tell any of them about what had happened to my mom. I blame myself.”

“Why?”

“Because I thought getting picked up from a sleepover I didn’t want to be at was more important than my parents’ safety.”

“Charlie, your parents getting in a car crash isn’t your fault.”

“It isn’t? Dean.” She sat next to him, and when she spoke, her voice was very gentle. “Do you blame yourself for your parents’ death? Or do you think that sometimes, things just happen?”

“My parents’ deaths were different.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. How old were you at the sleepover? When they crashed?”

“Twelve.”

“I was fifteen when I fucked up, Charlie. It wasn’t your fault. Twelve is too young to be responsible for anything.”

Charlie looked down. “What happened to your parents?”

“I got into a fight and the cops were called. The injuries were...bad. On both me and the other guy. They sent us to the hospital and then called my dad. It was on our way home that we crashed. So.” He rubbed his face. “Charlie, when you get older, you get more choices. More responsibility. And it’s your job to make sure you make the right choices. When you’re twelve, you have, like, two choices to make. Who to take to the middle school dance, and what time you’re actually going to sleep versus what time you go to bed. What happened to your parents isn’t your fault.”

“So you blame yourself for what happened to your dad because you were fifteen and you think you should have known better.”

“I got into a pissing match, so yeah. I should have known better.”

“And how old were you when your mom died?”

Dean’s fists knotted into the blanket on his lap. “Four.”

“What kind of choices do you have when you’re four? ‘Should I shit on the floor or in the pot’?”

Dean gritted his teeth. “My family was different than most. I had responsibilities.”

“It was a four-year-old’s responsibility to take care of his mother?”

“To an extent, yes.”

“To the extent that it’s your job to drag a fully grown woman out of a fire?”

Now Dean froze. He stared at Charlie. “I never told you about the fire. I didn’t tell you how she died.”

Charlie waited a beat before standing up. “Hot cocoa’s gonna burn,” she said.

“Charlie--”

“I’ll be right back with the best hot cocoa you’ve ever tasted and we can talk then.” She patted his shoulder and walked to the kitchen, leaving Dean to stew in his thoughts.

It must be Cas’s fault. He did say his family always spilled all of their beans to her, so Cas must have spilled Dean’s beans for him. Which was honestly very rude.

Dean didn’t really know much about the situation, though. Sure, he absolutely hated it when people poked their noses into his business (looking right at you, Gabriel), but it was Cas. He probably just needed somebody to vent to. Dean couldn’t stay mad at  _ Cas _ .

“Here you go.” Charlie gave Dean a lap table and then put a tall mug on top of it. The mug was only half full. “I can refill when you want more. It’s just. Less chance of spilling if it doesn’t go all the way to the top.”

“Thanks.” Dean took a small sip. “Holy shit.”

“Good, right? It’s my mom’s recipe.”

“Your mom really knows her shit.”

“Knows,” said Charlie.

“Huh?”

“Sorry. Most people talk about her in past tense when they find out what her situation is. It’s a gut reaction. Most people...most people get it wrong.”

“I’m not most people.”

“Yeah. Thank you.”

Dean took another sip of his cocoa. “Charlie?”

She looked at him over the rim of her cup.

“Did Cas put you up to this?”

“Up to what?”

“This. This conversation. This faux-therapy shit.”

“What? No. He doesn’t even know you’re here, unless you told him.”

“Then did he tell you about me? How did you know how my mom died?”

“Cas didn’t spill your secrets, if that’s what you’re worried about. I looked you up almost as soon as I met you.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “I’m very good at computers.”

“I’m sure.”

“Anyway. Dean. About your mom.”

“What about her?”

“Her death wasn’t your fault.”

“You know how many times people have tried to tell me that? It might not make sense, but that’s just how my brain works.”

“I’m not just telling you, Dean. I’m going to convince you.”

“What, you’re psychic now? Or a hypnotist? ‘Cause I gotta tell you, man, I’m not up for that shit.”

“No. I told you.” Charlie stood up again. “I’m really good with computers.”

“What does that even mean?” Dean tried to catch her as she walked past, but she slipped right through his fingers. “Charlie, what does that mean?”

She was gone for another few minutes--long enough for Dean to wonder if it was time to turn on Dr. Sexy yet. Just as he prepared to get up, Charlie was coming back into the room with a laptop tucked under her arm.

“You were gone for that long for a  _ laptop _ ? I thought you were good with computers. Shouldn’t you have found that a little quicker?” 

“I didn’t say I was a magnet, Dean. Being good with computers doesn’t mean you have a super-sniffer for keyboards or CPUs.”

“I understood like half of that. Maybe.”

“Liar. I know you’re smarter than you look.”

“Okay, so why’d it take you so long to find the laptop? I know you don’t become a magnet or anything. I just assumed you’d. You know. Use it enough to know where it is.”

“Oh. I don’t use it that much.” Charlie took a seat next to him and set the laptop up on the coffee table. “I prefer my desktop. Better in all ways but portability.” She logged in with what looked like a ninety-character password and opened a folder.

“And something on this laptop of yours is going to fix me?”

“No. It’ll probably just make you more confused. So...sorry.”

Dean wrapped his hand tighter around his now quarter-full mug. “Why are you doing this?”

“I have a guilty conscience, so I like to clear other people of their own guilty conscience.”

“So because you feel like shitty, you want to make it so other people don’t feel like shit?” 

Charlie frowned. “Essentially, yes.”

Dean watched her for a moment, then nodded. “Okay. Show me what you’ve got.”

“Aye, aye, captain.” Charlie opened the first file on the screen. “Okay, so this is your house after the fire.”

“The nursery,” Dean whispered. “Sam’s nursery.” The last time he’d seen it, it was in flames, and the time before that, it was all cutesy and shit. Mary was tucking Sam into bed. John had been...hugging Dean, ushering him to his own bedroom. It was before John started drinking. The nursery on screen was in ashes. Sam’s crib was half of what it used to be. There were scorch marks on the ceiling. Every picture frame that had once been hanging on the wall had fallen down, glass blackened and shattered. The wallpaper was riddled with holes and peeling from where it once was firmly plastered.

“Dean?”

“Sorry.” He shook his head. “Keep going.” He kept his eyes away from the charred remains of the nursery, unwilling to ruin the actually pleasant memory his mind recalled for him.

“Okay, well. Like I said, this is a picture of your house after the fire, taken by the fire marshal investigator people.”

“Is that the technical term?”

“For now.” Charlie gave him the tiniest of smiles. “They determined this room to be the source of the fire, and said it was an electrical shortage that caused it.” 

“I know that,” Dean said. “I did my own research when I got older to answer a few questions since my dad never wanted to talk about it. I’m not really sure what this is trying to prove.”

“Okay, Dean? If you knew that, then what’s with blaming yourself? Were you the one who flipped the lightswitch?”

“What else do you have?”

Charlie let out a sigh. “Okay, fine.” She closed out the picture and pulled up what looked like a report. “This is the official write-up made by the investigators. In the papers, it said they were sure that it was an electrical shortage, but if you read the report, you’ll see that they aren’t really sure.”

“So they aren’t good at their job.”

“Well. Maybe. But the point is, they weren’t sure yet what had done it. And I’ll show you something that proves them right--that it wasn’t an electrical shortage.” She pulled up another document, which had way too many words but also looked like a report. “This is the write-up of the electrical company. People in the neighborhood had been having some problems with their lights coming on and off, so they sent somebody to check it out. They did a full inspection. And I mean a really, full, thorough inspection. Dean,” she said, turning to him, “If there had been a problem in your house, they would have found it. They did this inspection the day before your fire. There’s no way they could have missed it. So the fire was something completely out of your control. Even the investigators couldn’t see it. There’s no way a four-year-old could.”

“They might have just been shitty investigators.”

“Okay, so assuming they were, that means they missed vital information that led to a woman’s death. Which means it’s their fault.”

Dean stared at her.

“You were four, Dean. You don’t have to be responsible.”

“You were only twelve. Haven’t you done this research for yourself?”

“This wasn’t for me, Dean.”

“Well, maybe it should be.” He put down his mug of cocoa. “Were you in the car with them?”

“No. I told you. I was scared at a sleepover and wanted to get picked up--”

“Did you call them while they were driving?”

“No. I called their house phone. That was the last time I spoke to them.”

“Okay. So if you weren’t in the car with them and you didn’t call them while they were driving, then there’s no way you could’ve distracted them, right?”

“Dean--”

“Okay, did you have your driver’s license by the time you were twelve?”

“That’s not even possible.”

“So you’re saying you didn’t own a car.”

“No, Dean. This is ridiculous.”

“Okay, did you at least know how to drive?”

“No. I was twelve.”

“So if you didn’t know how to drive, and you didn’t have a license, and you didn’t have a car, that means you weren’t driving the car that hit them.”

“I  _ know  _ that. But I was the reason they were  _ on  _ the road in the  _ first _ place!”

“Charlie, you said you were scared, right? That you called them because you were scared?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, that was the choice you made. To call them. You know what choice they made?”

Charlie didn’t answer.

“They made the choice to come and get you. Together. They could’ve just told you to put on your big-Charlie pants and bite through it, or they could’ve just sent one person to pick you up because it was late at night and at least one of them should have their sleep, but they both came, Charlie. That was their choice. And Charlie, that isn’t your fault, okay? Parents are supposed to take care of you I knew this for a fact when I was four but I ignored it for a long time afterward because of what my dad became after my mom’s death.  They’re  _ supposed _ to take care of their kids. They’re supposed to be completely willing to drop anything and everything when they’re kid’s in trouble or scared. They died because of a freak accident, Charlie. Not because of you. They died because the asshole in the sky thought it was okay for two people to die just because they loved their kid. You didn’t put them on that road, Charlie. You just gave them the option.”

“It still feels like it’s my fault.”

“That’s because logic doesn’t trump emotions,” Dean said.

“So you’re saying that what I do is worthless.”

“No. You give people some peace of mind. But they have to forgive themselves. You can’t make them forgive themselves.”

After a long moment, Charlie closed the laptop. “Do you want to stay the night? I have a guest room.”

“What?”

“You look super tired and I don’t know what happened between you and Cas but you shouldn’t be alone.”

“And why’s that?”

“Nobody should be.” Charlie turned her eyes toward him, and the sadness in them made Dean’s breath catch. “When you’re alone, the thoughts catch up with you. It’s easier to forget when you have somebody next to you.” And then she collected their cups and walked back toward the kitchen, Dean staring after her and wondering how he’d made it so long without knowing that Charlie Bradbury existed.

 

“Dean?”

Dean groaned and rolled over, throwing his arm over his head.

“Dean, seriously. Get up. Cas called.”

“Oh, fuck.” He pushed himself upward and forced his eyes open to the brightness that shined right onto his face. “I forgot to call him.”

“Yeah. I know.” Charlie thrust a phone toward him. “He’s freaking the fuck out.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Dean took the phone and held it to his ear. “Hey, Cas, I--”

“What the  _ fuck _ , Dean?” Cas sounded near tears. “I’ve been calling you all night and you never fucking answered and I thought--I thought--” 

“Cas, I’m okay.” 

“I know. But you should have called.”

“My phone died. I’m sorry. I was going to call you when I got home, but then Charlie offered for me to spend the night and it never occurred to me to--”

“Dean, you can’t do this to me. Not now. Not ever.”

“I’m sorry.”

Cas took a deep, shuddering breath. “I hate you.”

“You do not. You--” Dean stopped himself.

“What, Dean?”

“Nothing. I forgot what I was going to say.” He was frightened of what Cas’s answer would be if he had finished that sentence.  _ You love me _ . What would he say to that?

“You’re delirious again, Dean.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Really? You think so?”

“Dean?”

It took Dean a moment to realize that Cas was actually speaking to him. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m here.”

“I can come pick you up.”

“You don’t need to do that. I can--”

“Charlie is late to a class, Dean, so, no. She can’t give you a ride.”

“Well I can call--”

“I’m already on my way. There’s no need to call anybody else.”

“Cas, you feeling okay?” 

“Yes. Why?”

“You’re being super weird.”

“Weird in what way?” 

“I guess the word is possessive?”

“Yes.”

“What do you mean ‘yes’?” 

“I’ve been known to be quite possessive.”

“Get off the phone, Cas. When you get here, we can talk about this.” Dean hung up. As he handed the phone back to Charlie, he couldn’t stop the giant fucking smile from spreading across his face. Charlie grinned at him.

“Dude, you are so whipped.”

“I’m what?”

“Whipped. You’re so in love with him, my dude.”

“Am not.”

“Don’t deny it. Not to me.” Charlie lifted Dean’s legs, plopped down on the couch, and grinned at him. “You’re so fucking in love with him and you have no idea what to do with all of these macho man feelings mixing with your ‘holy fuck I’m gay’ feelings. Guess what, macho man?” She leaned forward, grin getting wider. “You can be macho and gay at the same time.”

Dean just stared at her.

“Admit it. You’re in love with Cas.”

He continued staring at her.

“Come on, Dean. Admit it. You’re super gay for Cas. You want to make out with him constantly. You love him. You loooove him.”

“Fine!” Dean snapped. Charlie squealed. “I like him, okay?”

“No. You have to actually say it. You love him.”

Dean glared.

“Say it, Dean. Come on. Say it.”

“I love him,” he mumbled.

“What? I didn’t hear that. What’d you say?”

“You’re fucking obnoxious,” he growled, then, louder: “I love him.”

“Say it again.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re still ashamed of it and you shouldn’t be. It’s okay to love him, Dean.”

“Not if he doesn’t love me back.”

“Is unrequited love illegal or something?”

“No. No! I just.”

“You don’t want to get hurt?” Her voice was very soft.

“Yeah. I don’t want to tell him how I feel and hear him tell me that he never gave a fuck.”

“You don’t think he cares about you?”

“Maybe he cares. But he doesn’t love me.”

“How do you know?”

“I don’t. Not for sure. And I can’t know until he tells me.”

“You could tell him first. How you feel.”

“Are you going to college to be a therapist?”

“Nope. I just like to help people.” She patted his leg. “You should think about it. About telling him.” Then she lifted his legs again and slid out from under them. “You might be pleased with the answer.”

“Charlie?”

“Yes.”

“What do you think?”

“What about?”

“Do you think Cas really likes me?”

“Dean.” Charlie put her hands on his shoulders. “I know for a fact that that man is madly in love with you.”

Another involuntary smile spread across Dean’s face. “You think?”

Charlie smiled back at him. “You two are perfect for each other. You’re just too worried about being rejected to actually tell each other the truth.” 

 

A couple minutes after Charlie left with explicit instructions to lock up when Dean left, too, there was a knock at the door. Dean was half naked and washing his face, so he dried his face in between rolls to the front of the house where he pulled open the door.

“Hey, Cas.”

Cas just looked at him.

“Cas?”

“Why aren’t you dressed?”

“Oh. I was just washing up a little. Come on in.”

“Is that. Is that okay with Charlie?”

“Yeah. She said that we could hang out as long as we wanted. There are some leftover pancakes, if you want.” Dean finished drying his face off and started toward the kitchen. “How’re you doing, man?”

“Where’s your, uh. Where’s your shirt?”

“On the couch? I don’t know. Either on the couch or in the bathroom.”

Cas was still standing by the door for some reason. “Could you put it on?”

Dean twisted around to frown at him. “Why?”

“You’re very distracting.”

Dean hid his smile. “Thanks.” He wheeled toward him and took his wrist. He could feel Cas’s pulse racing under his fingers. “Something making you anxious?” 

Cas moved wide eyes toward him.

“Is that a yes?” Dean tugged him down and spoke against his mouth. “Because, unless I’m wrong, you seem to be pretty worked up right now.”

“I don’t know what you mean. I’m just distracted.”

“Bullshit.” He pressed a kiss to Cas’s mouth, then another. “You totally have the hots for me right now.”

“No. I’m still mad at you.”

Dean laughed and pulled away for a second. “Then what’s so distracting? This rag I’m drying my face with?”

“It actually might help with the distracting.” Cas bent down and mouthed at Dean’s shoulder, wracking Dean’s body with shivers. “You still have water droplets all over you.”

“Oh, fuck,” Dean groaned as Cas continued mouthing at his skin. “Cas, C--”

Cas put both hands on either side of Dean’s neck and pulled him into a kiss. “You. Are so. Fucking. Hot.”

Dean hooked his arm around Cas and yanked him even closer. “We probably shouldn’t do this in Charlie’s house,” he mumbled in between kisses.

“Why not.”

“Because--” Dean gasped as Cas fastened his mouth on Dean’s jaw. “Because--”

“Shut up.”

“C--”

“Shut up,” Cas growled.

“Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck.” Dean hooked his finger through Cas’s belt loop and his hand brushed against the hardness between Cas’s legs. Cas groaned against his mouth. Shit. He hadn’t meant to do that.  _ He hadn’t meant to do that _ .

Fuck it.

He rubbed his hand against that hardness. Cupped it. Cas shuddered. “Dean, that’s--” He sucked in his breath and pushed against Dean’s hand, ground against it. When Dean took his hand away, he made a noise of complaint and his kisses got deeper.

And Dean said fuck it again.

He wrapped his hand around the handle of his chair and pushed upward, balancing on his leg and trusting Cas to catch him.

Cas did catch him. And immediately slammed against Dean against the wall, shoving his knee between Dean’s legs. 

“Whoa, Cas.” Dean grinned. “I think I like this side of you.”

“Shut. Up.”

Dean was tempted not to shut up because he really wanted to hear that growl again, but he was really fucking distracted with Cas’s knee still pressed between his legs. He tugged at Cas’s shirt, hard enough for the buttons to break off, and pushed it back, exposing Cas’s bare chest. Holy  _ fuck _ he was so  _ fucking hot _ . He leaned forward and nipped lightly at the skin, then harder when he felt the approving rumble the first bite got. This was totally gonna leave a mark.

Good. Dean wanted to see Cas with his shirt off more and he definitely wanted to see his mark on him.

“We should definitely stop soon,” Cas finally said, laughing a little. Just as Dean was about to answer, Cas rocked against his groin, pressing harder against him, making more of his body flush with Dean’s. Dean clutched at the muscles on Cas’s back. “We should really not do this in Charlie’s house.”

“That’s what I said, asshole.” 

“We should.” Cas pushed up against him more, grinding his hips into Dean’s. “We should.”

Clearly nothing was going to stop anytime soon. And Dean didn’t want them to. But also. This was Charlie’s house. And if Dean was going to get anywhere with Cas, it wasn’t going to be in Charlie’s house.

Dean put a hand on Cas’s chest, moving him away.

“Dean,” Cas said in that low growl that made Dean’s pants get super tight super fast.

“We need to stop,” Dean panted. He rested his forehead on Cas’s shoulder, trying to catch his breath. “Seriously, man. We’re in Charlie’s house.” 

Cas started laughing again. “Oh my god.”

“Help me get back to my chair.”

Cas was still laughing as he helped Dean sit back down. “I can’t…”

“We, uh.” Dean rubbed his head. 

“Got caught up in the moment?”

No shit. “I’m gonna go get my shirt,” said Dean.

“You ruined mine.”

Dean glanced over his shoulder. Cas’s shirt was ripped half open and the buttons that had managed to stay on looked about ready to fall off. “Oops.”

“You don’t seem to regret this.”

“Nope.” Dean could see the hickey he’d given Cas. It was bright red and angry. “That’s gonna bruise.” 

Cas looked down and a smile broke out across his face. “And you call  _ me  _ possessive.”

“Shit. We were supposed to talk about that, weren’t we?”

“Go put your shirt on.”

“What am I supposed to do about  _ you _ , though?”

Cas chuckled. “This is your own goddamn fault. But I’ll try to fix it.”

“I don’t think you’re gonna fix that.”

“Do you have an extra shirt, then?”

Dean wavered. Cas had never worn anything but his suit before. Sure, he’d been wearing less and less of his suit recently (first the trench coat had gone, then the jacket. Dean had hoped that this trend would keep going), but that didn’t mean he was gonna change clothes altogether. But also Cas was asking for Dean’s shirt right now and that meant Dean had  _ responsibilities _ , dammit.

“I don’t have an extra shirt but you could totally borrow my tank,” he said, and he relished the expression on Cas’s face.

“Tank?”

“Yeah. My tank top. I wear one sometimes under my t-shirts.”

Cas blinked at him.

“You have really good arms, man.”

“You think?”

“Dude, I know arms. You have good arms.” 

Now Cas grinned at him. “Put your fucking shirt on.”

“You didn’t curse this much before me.”

“We discussed this already. Put your shirt on. Where is the tank top?”

“I think maybe in the bathroom.” Dean wheeled to the couch and dug through the cushions until he found his shirt. “Yeah, it’s in the bathroom.” He look up again to see Cas stripping out of the button down, quickly and efficiently, and then tugging on the tank top. “Damn.”

Cas held up a hand. “No. Get your shirt on.”

“Cock-blocker,” Dean grumbled, and then was immediately horrified. To his surprise, though, Cas was laughing again.

“You’re the one who stopped us in the first place. So this is your fault.”

“Where we were going with that...I wouldn’t be able to look Charlie in the eye for weeks. Maybe a year.”

“And you were just trying to start that up again.” Cas wrapped his shirt up in a tight bundle. “We should get going. Put your shirt on, Dean. Please.”

“Well, I guess. Since you said ‘please’.”

“You’re a child.”

Dean grinned. “That’s not what you thought a couple minutes ago.” He pulled on his t-shirt. “There. Happy?”

“Do you have all of your things?”

“I don’t have much to grab, Cas. It isn’t like I packed an overnight bag.”

“Or a charger, huh?”

“Shut up.”

“I was worried about you, Dean.” Cas opened the door and made a gesture for Dean to go through first.

“Yeah, you know what?” Dean waited until they’d both exited and the door was locked to continue: “That whole possessive thing? We should talk about that.”

Cas unlocked his car. “I’m not sure there’s much to talk about. It’s a well-known fact that I’m possessive.”

“Okay, but.” Dean climbed into the car with raised eyebrows at Cas. “Like. How possessive.”

Cas looked over at him and a slow smile spread across his face. “Possessive to the point that I will actually punch anybody who looks at you in a way I don’t like,” he said easily.

“Whoa, dude, no.”

“Fine. Do I have permission to punch people who kiss you?”

“Uh. Why would people be kissing me?”

“Because you’re an attractive man who gives very good kisses. Why wouldn’t people be kissing you?”

“Well, Cas.”

Cas looked at him only after he’d pulled out of the driveway. “Yes, Dean?”

“Why would I kiss other people?”

“You have no commitment to me.”

Here goes. “Is that what you think?”

“It’s what I know. We’ve had no real conversations about the nature of our relationship, Dean. If you decide to pursue other people--or accept another’s advances--I have no right to be angry about it. The point is, I’m possessive enough that I will be.”

“Cas. Dude.”

Cas glanced at him, long enough to show confusion but not long enough to make Dean worried that they were going to crash. “Yes?” 

“You think I’m not committed to you?”

“You have made no effort to show that you are, so no.”

“I’ve made--” Dean stopped, and let out all of his breath at once. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

“I don’t understand why you’re getting angry.”

“Cas, I.” Dean pressed a hand to his eyes. “You’re so fucking dense.”

“Please don’t insult me.”

“Sorry. Sorry, that was mean. I just. I’m really bad at relationships, okay? And that means I’m super bad at expressing my feelings, but dude, I don’t want anybody else.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I thought this was an exclusive thing.”

“So you’re my.” Cas glanced over at him again, shyly. “Does that mean you’re my boyfriend?”

Dean felt a blush spread across his cheeks. “I mean.”

“Dean? Does that mean you’re my boyfriend?”

“Fine. Whatever.”

Cas smiled big.

“I’m gonna turn on the radio before this turns into more of a chick-flick than it already has.”

“So if I kiss somebody else--”

“I’ll kick their fucking ass,” Dean said immediately. Cas started laughing. “I hate you,” said Dean, and as they both turned to the front, they both knew he meant the exact opposite.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so, so sorry for disappearing for several months, especially after those last notes. I'm doing better now--thank you so so much for your kind comments (looking at you XxMariXxX) 
> 
> This is a short chapter but I'll definitely be updating as often as I used to. Again, I'm really really sorry.
> 
> No warnings apply that I can see but let me know :*

“Hey, Cassie. Dean.” Luci opened the door wider so that Dean could wheel through. “Actually, Dean. Can I talk to you for a second?” Castiel faltered, glancing back, but Dean nodded at him, smiling a little, and he continued.

The kitchen already had Sam and Gabriel and Michael in it. He didn’t see Anna or Alfie anywhere, but there was a woman in a black dress lounging at the counter on one of the bar stools. She was beautiful--dark hair and eyes, square jaw line, wide mouth. She smiled at Castiel as he walked toward everybody. 

“You must be Castiel.” She pushed herself to her feet and offered her hand.

“Ruby, I assume,” said Castiel, nodding and taking her hand.

“You’re cuter than Luci said.” She flashed him another smile and then her face slid back into something calmer--something Castiel couldn’t quite read. “I’m glad I could finally meet you.”

“And I, you.”

“You don’t have to be so formal. Honestly.” Still grasping his hand, she leaned forward conspiratorially. “I would actually prefer if you didn’t. This kid Sam has been treating me like a queen ever since he showed up and it’s freaking me out.”

Castiel glanced over at Sam. He was lounging on the couch with his phone, seemingly relaxed, but his eyes kept glancing over to Ruby. “He seems infatuated.”

“Yeah. And I feel really bad about it but he’s a total dork. And he’s a kid.”

“And you’re married.”

Ruby rolled her eyes. “And that.”

“You brought the file, right?”

Ruby released his hand and stepped backward. “Yes, of course. I came as soon as I could. The flight came in at about one this morning.”

“Yes, I know. I would have come in earlier, but…”

“Dean, right? Lu said you were worried about him.”

“I was. But I found him this morning. Did you get enough sleep?”

“Oh, I’m okay.” She sat back in her stool and crossed her ankles. “I always sleep better when I have Lu. Plus I took sleeping pills on the plane and was out like a rock.”

Luci and Dean came into the room and Castiel raised an eyebrow at his boyfriend.

His  _ boyfriend _ .

A little smile played at his lips, and he fought it down, just enough to make sure Dean was okay.

He got a nod in response. Dean was okay.

“So, Luci?” Castiel took a seat next to Ruby.

“I like your new look. Half-professional and half-grunge.” 

“Luci, the file. You need to explain to Sam and Dean what’s going on.”

“Okay. Okay.” Luci reached across the counter and grabbed the manila folder lying across it. It was fastened shut, and written in sharpie across the front were the words ‘OPERATION APOCALYPSE’. “This was the plan.” He unwrapped the string that held the envelope closed and poured its contents onto the counter. Castiel leaned closer. There wasn’t much that he understood--this was mostly because of Luci’s sloppy scrawl, but the words he could make out still didn’t make any sense. Most of it was just...lists. Steps. One paper he pulled toward him had a list of crimes. Drug trafficking. Armed robbery. And then lists: 1. Make the crime exist. Step two was illegible. 3. Put tango at scene.

“What is this?” Dean whispered. He’d pulled himself up on a stool, too, and was leaning his left side against Castiel for support as he sifted through the papers.

“It was a plan that Alastair and I came up with together. We called it Operation Apocalypse. It was...Like I said, it was theoretical. It was the perfect plan. If you couldn’t get somebody for a crime--or even if you didn’t want to get caught for something--this was the perfect way to frame somebody for something else. We have plans for every kind of crime. We could match it to the year. We could make sure there was enough evidence to be substantial in court. It was the perfect way to frame somebody for an imperfect crime.”

“But you never tried it?”

“No.”

“And what does this have to do with Sam?”

Luci took a deep breath and leaned across the counter. His fingers rubbed against one of the pieces of paper absently. “Alastair came to me with this idea. He wanted revenge for the person who’d murdered his daughter.”

“His  _ what _ ?” Sam came closer, an incredulous look on his face. “He’s never mentioned a daughter.”

“I imagine he didn’t.” Luci let out a sigh and bent his head down. “Her name was Ava. She was only a couple months old when she died. Choked on a toy that was made for infants and shouldn’t have even been given to a pre-teen. He was...beyond angry. He tried to sue the company, tried to sue somebody. He wanted them to pay for what they’d done. But...well, the company had too much money, and Alastair lost. That’s when he came to me and I helped him with Operation Apocalypse. We wanted to rain hell down on the bastard and we wanted the perfect plan to do it.”

“I still don’t see how this has anything to do with me,” said Sam. “We never had any defective toys.”

“Yes, I know.” Luci reached over and pulled out a picture of a baby. It was dressed in lilac and had a matching bow around its head. “This is Ava. When she died, Alastair wanted all of my resources to find the man to hold responsible, and I let him have them. I adored her. She was a very sweet little girl. I was...I was her godfather. So of course I wanted revenge for her. He didn’t tell me that he was also doing other research. Research for what happened to his daughter after her death. You see.” Now he cleared his throat, and with every breath he took his body seemed to get heavier. “When she died, the doctor’s approached him. They said that her liver was in prime health, and that there was a baby down the hall who also needed a liver. He was so overcome with grief that he just. He wanted to make it so somebody else didn’t lose their baby. There weren’t that many questions. The parents whose baby received the liver kept their names out of the papers. Neither knew who got the liver and who received it.”

“Oh. Fuck.” Dean’s eyes widened and Castiel frowned at him. What had he just realized? What was it that made him have a reaction like that?

Apparently Sam was wondering the same thing. “What, Dean?” But Dean was just staring at Luci, his mouth hanging open.

Luci continued. “Using my resources, Alastair found out who the liver was given to. I was unaware of his research until he brought it up as an addition to this first use of Operation Apocalypse. We’d planned everything else, and then he told me the second half: he was going to care for the child who had received the liver like it was his own.”

“Wait,  _ what _ ?” Sam clutched at his stomach. “You mean  _ I’m  _ the one who got the liver?”

“You would’ve died without it, Sam,” Dean said softly. “You had an infection, and it was moving fast. I used to hold you in that hospital, and I thought you were gonna die without ever being able to see your nursery. It was a miracle when they finally told us that you were going to get a liver.”

“How do you even remember that?”

“It was one of the worst things that I’ve ever gone through, Sammy. How could I not?” 

Luci was watching them both with a grave expression. “I immediately told him that the plan was off. That I wouldn’t help him anymore, and that if he was going to try it, I was going to use Operation Apocalypse on him and get him locked up. He told me that he understood. That he was going to back off. That Ava wouldn’t want him to do it. I guess he went through with it after all.”

“Why didn’t you tell us this in the first place?”

“Before, I had forgotten all about it. Alastair said he wasn’t going to do it so I pushed it to the far reaches of my mind. I shoved everything that had been related to Operation Apocalypse into this folder and I haven’t opened it until now. But.” Luci dug out a couple of papers and brandished them. “These are the hospital records from that night Ava’s death saved Sam’s life. Alastair must have found them through my resources. I didn’t even read them when I was putting everything away, but look.” He pointed to the signature at the bottom.

John Winchester. Mary Winchester.

“This confirms everything.”

“But how do we prove it?” Sam asked. “That’s the whole problem, here. That’s always been the problem. We have all of this evidence but it could be circumstantial. Even if we prove that my liver came from Ava, there’s no way to prove to a jury that Alastair did anything malicious.”

“We’d need a confession,” said Michael. Everybody slowly turned to look at him, and he shrugged. “That’s the easiest way to get somebody in jail. Have them confess. The confession with all of the evidence we have to substantiate his claims? Straight into the bin.”

“Don’t call prison ‘the bin’,” said Luci, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. “But, yes. That would be best.”

“So are we saying we turn a mic on and roll on in there?” Dean asked. “Ask for the truth, get it all on a recorder. Boom. Oldest trick in the book.”

“Yes, but the problem is,” said Luci, “Alastair is smarter than your average criminal. And he would definitely be familiar with any trick in the book. No, we need to think this through more.”

Castiel felt Dean breathe inward. “I think I may still have a plan. And none of you are gonna like it.” 

 

Luci, Michael, Gabriel, and Ruby all started packing up. Castiel was told that, across town at Bobby’s, Alfie and Anna also started packing up.

“They got attached to Bobby,” Luci had explained, one hand covering the phone.

“Understandable,” Dean had said.

Once everything was together, Luci asked Dean about a thousand times (Castiel was sure it was more, as sometimes he wasn’t in the room but he could still hear them conversing) if he was  _ absolutely _ sure this was what he wanted to do. 

“Yeah. I’m sure. I need to protect Sam.”

“Dean,” Sam had started to say, but Dean held up his hand.

“Seriously, Sammy. I can do this. I’ve been waiting for a long time to get you away from that asshole. This’ll be like. My legacy, yeah?”

Castiel looked toward Dean, frowning. His legacy? Dean Winchester had saved so many lives, and only getting Sam away from Alastair would be his legacy? 

“Don’t look at me like that,” Dean said.

“Your  _ legacy _ , Dean?”

“Protecting Sam is the most important thing I ever do.” He closed his eyes, and the movement was so brief that Castiel almost didn’t catch the shudder that came with it. “It’s the only thing that’s ever mattered.”

The only thing that ever mattered. It was like Dean believed he only existed to take care of Sam.

“Have you never wanted to do anything else?” he asked softly.

“Not now, Cas.” Dean gave him a tiny smile and spun his chair around. “Are we doing this or what?” He started toward the door, picking up Luci’s bag and dropping it onto his lap. “The sooner we get this done, the sooner you all can get out of this fucking city.”

“Hey, Cas?” Sam caught Castiel’s arm as he tried to follow Dean. “Can I talk to you?” 

“Yes, of course.” He stopped and turned around, tilting his head. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I was just wondering.” Sam glanced at Dean, who was just exiting their view and probably their earshot, too. “You and Dean.”

“What about us?”

“Did something happen between you two?”

Castiel swallowed. “Like what?”

“I don’t know. Like did you finally get together or something?”

“We’ve been…” Castiel closed his eyes and took in a breath. “We’ve been talking a lot more.”

“Uh-huh.” Sam looked doubtful. “Sure.”

Castiel decided he shouldn’t push it anymore than he already had. “We should go get in the van. They’re probably waiting for us.”

“Right. Yeah.” Sam still looked doubtful. “Okay.”

“Sam.” Castiel took the boy’s shoulder, then a deep breath. “Don’t ask him.”

“What?”

“Don’t ask him what’s going on. We’ve been having a lot of...frank discussions” ( _ Dean’s mouth, hot on his _ ) “and I don’t think he’s ready to share that with somebody else yet. He’s just opened up to me, Sam. Don’t force him to open up more or he’ll close up again.”

Sam nodded. “Okay.”

“Do you trust me on this?”

“Yeah. Of course. Don’t ask Dean about what’s been going on.”

“I know he says that he needs to protect you, Sam, but he also needs you. Present. With him. He needs to know that you’re there just to be there and not because you want something. So much has been demanded of him, Sam.”

“I know.” Sam raked his hands through his hair. “I know. And I feel really terrible about it.”

“There’s no need to feel terrible about it, Sam. It isn’t your fault.”

“If I hadn’t needed that liver, none of this would’ve happened.”

“Sam, you were an infant. You hadn’t even left the hospital yet. This isn’t your fault. You were a pawn in Alastair’s game.”

“Dean got hurt because of me.”

“Dean got hurt because of Alastair, Sam. Not because of you.”

“I feel like I’ve fucked everything up and I don’t know how to fix it. That I’ve done nothing to fix it and that I should have.”

“As important as you are, Sam Winchester, you are a small part of this world. There exist other straws to break the camel’s back. You were not the first piece, and you certainly are not the last. You are merely part of a grander scheme. A grander plan. You play a part, but not the largest, and it was never and never will be your responsibility to shoulder the task of destroying this...web you’ve become embroiled in.”

Sam finally relaxed. “This is why you’re my favorite teacher, Cas.”

Everything in Castiel seemed to get heavier. Anything surrounding his teaching career was still uncertain, so he liked to avoid thinking about it as much as possible. He forced a smile onto his face. “We should get outside.”

They walked together in silence, got into the van in silence, and rode with the others in silence. Eventually they reached Alastair’s house, where they all sat in the van and prepared themselves. Gabriel and Michael and Ruby and Castiel and Sam, were to stay outside. They were the backup--or, at least, Gabriel and Michael were. Castiel insisted he also be backup, but Michael and Gabriel just gave him hard looks and he very reluctantly backed down. Dean and Luci went inside together again. Alone. Nobody to watch their backs until it was too late.

“Dean, wait.” Castiel slid out of the car before they approached the door. “Please be careful.”

“I will be, Cas.”

_ I love you _ . “Be careful,” Castiel said again. 


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: I'm gonna update more!!!!
> 
> Also me: Wait shit I forgot about that fic
> 
> I'm so sorry again!! I've been so busy preparing for college and all (Jesus it's expensive) but I promise I will keep updating!
> 
> In other news: honestly if y'all have anything you want to happen in this fic, please let me know. I'm a people-pleaser. I want to make y'all happy. Hmu in the comments (or, and I'm really embarrassed to say this, I do have a kik, which is buglebane please don't roast me). Also Jesus Wow I swore a lot when I wrote this
> 
> cw for death, abuse, probably more i mean it's got alastair in it so expect A Lot

Dean looked at him for a second, his heart racing. He wasn’t sure if it was because of what he was about to do or if it was because of the look in Cas’s eyes, but his heart was racing.

_ I love you _ , he wanted to say.  _ I love you. I love you _ . This felt like goodbye, even though it was just going to be temporary.  _ I love you _ .

“I will be,” Dean said. He twisted his chair around and Luci’s hand rested on his shoulder.

“We can do this, Dean.”

“I know. Just remember everything we’ve rehearsed.” 

“We rehearsed for ten minutes.”

“I know. Just remember it, okay? Or this whole thing gets fucked up. Turn on your mic.” 

Luci reached into his pocket and switched on his phone. “We’re good to go. And I do remember my lines, Dean. I’ll have you know that in high school I--”

“Luci, not the time.”

“Right.” Luci took a deep breath. “Let’s get this motherfucker.”

He helped Dean get up the steps again--the process was much more efficient this time, as Luci knew exactly what Dean needed--and then they were at the door. Dean lifted his hand, faltered, and Luci knocked. 

Alastair opened the door after a few seconds. He stared down at them with his cruel yellow eyes. “Back so soon, I see,” he said, smiling.

“You know me,” said Dean. “I can’t wait to spend time with my dear old surrogate father.”

“You and I have no relation, no matter what the papers say,” Alastair snarled. Luci and Dean glanced at each other.

“That’s actually what we’ve been meaning to talk to you about,” said Luci. “The papers.”

“What papers?”

“All of them.” Luci folded his hands behind his back. “Operation Apocalypse. I know that’s what you took Sam for. What I can’t figure out, though, is why you never went through with the actual operation. You never got the revenge that you wanted. All you did was take Sam.”

Alastair opened his mouth, then closed it. He smiled again. “I see what you’re doing,” he said. “You’re trying to get me to confess. Well, Luci. Not happening.”

“I’m just trying to have a pleasant conversation with y--”

“Really?” Alastair shot forward and pushed Luci up against the wall, so close that Dean got flashbacks of Cas doing the same to him. But this wasn’t the same at all. Luci’s eyes had widened a tad, and Dean thought he saw a flash of fear in them. If anything went wrong, they would have to wait until Michael or Gabriel could come inside. There was no way that Dean could do anything to help him. “Really?” Alastair said again, almost purring. He ran a hand up Luci’s leg and stopped near his waist, right on top of Luci’s phone. “What’s this?”

“My cell phone.” Luci was still trying to remain vigilant. The only thing in Dean’s mind was repeating like a broken record: fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. “Most people have them. Believe it or not, I'm not that happy to see you.”

Alastair leaned forward and rubbed his nose along Luci’s jaw. It was the creepiest fucking thing that Dean had ever seen, and he lived with the fucker for years. “Most people,” he crooned, “Don’t have the microphone on when they’re ‘just having a conversation’.” Then, with one swift move, he dug the phone out of Luci’s pocket, threw it on the ground, and stomped hard on it. Dean flinched away instinctively, his heart hammering out of his chest. Still against the wall but no longer constrained, Luci clenched his jaw.

“That was a brand new phone.”

“Then you shouldn’t have tried getting a confession out of me,” Alastair snarled. He patted Luci’s face twice and then stepped back from the both of them, face smoothing into something more impassive and terrifying than before. “Now get out of my house.”

“We’re still going to get you,” said Luci. “You’re going to end up in jail for all that you’ve done. You kidnapped two boys and you almost killed Dean several times. You’re going to pay for it all.”

“No. I won’t. You have no proof that I did any such things. Now get. Out.” Alastair opened the door and Luci took a step out. 

“We’ve both made mistakes, Al. Only I’ve paid for mine.”

“Dean,” Alastair breathed, “Time to leave.”

Dean took a deep breath. A deep, deep breath. “Luci,” he said, “Go wait in the car for me.” He was making the biggest fucking mistake of his life.

“What? Dean, no. I’m not leaving you in there.”

“He won’t do anything to me. Too many witnesses.” Dean held a steady eye contact with the man who’d fucked his life over so absolutely and he refused to break it. “I want to talk to you. Alone.”

After a long minute passed, Alastair laughed. “Fine,” he said. “What harm can it do? You’re a cripple. Isn’t like you could actually do anything.” And he slammed the door shut. “I should tell you, though,” he continued, soft enough that it wouldn’t be able to be heard through the door, “That I’m not spilling any secrets, either.”

“Okay, look.” Dean pulled out his phone, pulled out the battery, pulled out the SIM card. “Look. I’m not recording anything.”

Alastair’s eyes narrowed. “You could be hiding something else.”

“Go ahead. Search me. I don’t need a confession. I just want the truth.”

“Then why did you come in with Lucifer?”

“Because I wanted to hear you tell the truth in person.”

“And you thought I’d fall for the oldest trick in the book?”

Dean shrugged. “It was worth a try. But he’s gone now, and it’s just me, and you can search me if you want. I don’t have anything on me.” He lifted his arm, baring himself to his abuser.

Alastair just looked at him for a couple minutes, eyes unmoving. Then he said, “Okay. I’ll trust you. I know you’re too stupid to figure out any of the fancier recording technology, anyway, and it isn’t like you could use your left side to help. I’ll tell you.” He led him to the living room. Dean declined the offer to sit on the couch, untrusting of anything in the fucking house. Living here was a nightmare. Coming back twice in as many days was just reliving the bad memories. 

“So,” Dean said. “Luci explained what Operation Apocalypse was. The perfect revenge plan. The perfect framing plan. Why didn’t you ever go through with it?” 

Alastair leaned back in his chair, completely relaxed now. “Revenge meant nothing to me at that point. Lucifer was right in his saying that Ava wouldn’t want me to get revenge for her.” He smiled over at Dean, and somehow this smile didn’t seem as malicious as the ones had before. “You know how young we were when we came up with Operation Apocalypse? I was only eighteen. Lucifer was fourteen. We were kids. And I had already lost my daughter.”

Dean’s eyes widened. Luci was  _ fourteen _ when they came up with that plan? He supposed it made sense--after all, since it was right as Sam was being born and receiving the liver, and Sam was seventeen now, and Luci was probably in his early thirties. But Jesus fuck. Fourteen? Luci was, like, a master criminal. How did he even keep up with his schoolwork while coming up with this shit? “So you realized revenge wouldn’t do anything,” said Dean.

“Yes. But taking care of Ava would. She lives on through Sam, Dean. I can feel it. He’s like her in so, so many ways.”

Ava was a baby when she died. There was no way Alastair got that much personality out of her, so him saying that Sam was like her was basically saying that Sam would shit himself on a daily basis and cried every half hour. Which was close to the truth.

“And me,” Dean said. “I was extra.”

“You were unnecessary, Dean. I wanted to take care of Sam. I wanted him all to myself.”

“That’s why you tried to kill me.”

“If I wanted to kill you, Dean, I would have. I wanted you to get away from Sam. And from your holier-than-thou personality, I knew that you would never ask for help. You leave and never want to have reminders of this house again, and I have Sam to myself.”

Holy fuck. “You fucked me up on purpose. You wanted me to be like this.”

“Like what, Dean? A mess? You would’ve ended up this way even if I wasn’t in your life. I just...I helped you get there faster, Dean. I helped you realize who you really are. Consider it a gift.”

_ Don’t lose your temper. Don’t lose your temper _ .

“Why’d it take you so long to get us?”

“You had parents. I had planning.” 

“You forged those documents, didn’t you? The ones that got us into your custody? Because there’s no way Mom would’ve given us to you.”

“Yes. And thankfully, your father was a blundering idiot, so he never wrote up a will giving custody to anybody else.”

“My father wasn’t an idiot.”

“He was never home, Dean. He never had a steady job. He never wrote a will that promised his two sons a good home. And from what I’ve told,” he said, leaning forward, “You two had quite the relationship. But I must condone him for that, yes?”

“He may have been a bad father, but that doesn’t mean he was an idiot.”

“You continue to live in lies.”

Dean tried to steady his breathing. “Okay, so what was your plan? Just wait until both my parents died? What if they never did?”

“Oh, Dean. This is my daughter we’re talking about, here. I would never leave something like that up to chance.”

“What does that mean?”

Alastair just looked at him.

“What does that mean? Why did you say that? What do you mean you wouldn’t leave something up to chance?” He was nearing attack-levels of anxiety. “Fuck. Fuck.”

“Dean, think. I know you aren’t very bright, but I’m sure you do have some intelligence left in that alcohol-addled brain.” His fingers drummed against the coffee table once, twice, three times…

Then Dean came to the realization suddenly, and it hit him like a fucking bullet and he was left gasping afterward, gaping in horror, clutching at his wheel like it could zip him away from there and let him forget that any of this had ever happened. “You killed my parents.”

“Finally the boy gets it.” Alastair clapped his hands. “The fire was supposed to kill them both. I figured that if I got you both young enough, I could train you to shut up and stay in your room. But only your mother died. So I had to try other things. It took...a long time, getting your father. After Mary’s death, he moved around quite a lot. Trying to find some proof that it wasn’t an accident that killed her. Said the electricity had just been checked. He was right, of course, but he could never find any proof. So I had to do some thinking. Some observing. John would never show up if you got in trouble at school--oh, no. That had happened before, and he was a no-show. More important things to do than get your kid out of a couple week’s detention. Then I realized. He wouldn’t show up when he was called unless you were in  _ real  _ trouble. So I hired some kid to provoke you. I got them to say the right things. I knew you were already a failure. I just had to push the right buttons to make you lose control. And you did. And John came when he was called. And everything worked out perfectly.”

Dean rolled backward, about ready to be sick. “Everything that went wrong in my life. It was because of you.”

“It was never about you, Dean. It was about Sam. About Ava. I needed to protect the last piece of her. You were never of importance.”

“You know the lengths I go to protect Sam. Why would you push me away if it was all about taking care of him?”

“Because he’s mine,” Alastair hissed. “My daughter makes it possible for him to  _ live _ . He is as much my child as Ava was. I  _ made _ his existence--and everything that comes with it--possible!”

“Why are you telling me all this now?”

“Because. I still have a year left with Sam and there’s nothing that you can do to prevent that. He’s mine for another year. You have to live with that. And even afterward--even after he’s gone. Even if I never see him again. Every time you look in his face, you’ll be reminded that there’s a piece of me in him. That no matter what you choose to believe, I was more his father than John ever was, and he is more my child than he would ever be your brother. Every time he speaks, you’ll be forced to hear pieces of me in his speech. And you’ll never be able to do a fucking thing about it, because you have nothing of import against me.”

This was sounding a lot like it was about Dean. A lot. “Why do you hate me so much? Why is it so important to you that I suffer?” 

“You are nothing, Dean. You are nothing.”

“And that’s why you had to make my life absolute hell?”

“I made your life exactly what you deserve, Dean. Now. Is there anything else you want to know?”

“Is there anything you missed?”

Alastair tilted his head. Dean hated that it reminded him of Cas. “You were supposed to die.”

“I almost did.”

“But you didn’t. First, the fire. But you unfortunately got out of that. Then the crash, but you just got...more useless. I wasn’t aware that that was possible.”

“You tried to kill me.  _ Multiple _ times.”

“As I’ve said. If I had wanted you dead after the crash, you would be dead. No, I wouldn’t kill you after that. It was too easy then. People would have easily figure out that I’d done it. No, by then all I had to do was wait for you to kill yourself. And you almost succeeded. It seems, however, that you weren’t strong enough even to do that.” 

Everything within Dean was boiling. “That’s enough,” he whispered.

“You wanted answers, Dean. I gave them all to you.”

“That’s all you’ve done?”

“Certainly not all I’ve done. But it’s all you need to know.”

“You ruined our lives.”

“I only ruined your life, Dean. And it’s a sorry excuse for a life anyway. I took care of Sam. I loved Sam.”

“You never loved Sam. If you loved anybody, it was only Ava.”

“Ava is the only reason Sam is alive!”

“That doesn’t mean they’re the same person.” Dean took his wheel and moved toward the exit. “I’ve heard all that I need to hear.”

“They won’t believe you, Dean. Whatever you try to tell people. And even if they do, there’s nothing anybody can do about it.”

“I don’t care.” With minimal difficulty, Dean pulled open the door. “I know the truth. That’s enough.”

“You knowing the truth isn’t enough to put me in jail,” Alastair called after him.

“I never cared where you were.” Dean glanced back at him, over his shoulder. “I just wanted you away from Sam.”


End file.
